Still in the Dark
by Madame Hatter
Summary: PostRent. Mark & Maureen thought they finally got their happy ending, but when a past secret resurfaces, they realize they're still in the dark. And though both have changed, is it enough to stay together? A sequel to I Should Tell You. Incomplete.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **About four years ago, two authors - Fae and PinkElphaba - united in order to write their first _Rent_ fic, _I Should Tell You_. Now, after a _long_ break, and with slightly different pennames, we're presenting its sequel. Since it's been years since our first collaboration, we constructed this story so that it stands on its own. You don't have to be familiar with _I Should Tell You_ in order to understand this story, but you will definitely enjoy it more if you do. You can find the link in my profile page. As before, the chapters alternate between Mark's point of view (written by me, Madame Hatter) and Maureen's (written by my partner in crime, ThexInvisiblexGirl). The story is rated T for language and adult situations and a few chapters may go higher. _Please review!_ It's been a while since we have done any _Rent_ fics, so we'd love to know what you think, whether you're new to this fic or whether you've read _I Should Tell You_ before. We always encourage constructive criticism.

**Prologue**

"Mimi, please open the door," Maureen pleaded again, for what felt like the sixteenth time. This time she tried jiggling the doorknob a bit too, but it was useless. The door was still locked. Of course it was. She had been standing in front of it for the past 15 minutes or so; she would have noticed any change.

She stared at the closed door and sighed wistfully. Somehow this day, a day that had started so perfectly in every way, had ended up terribly wrong. She should have seen this coming; she should have known it wouldn't last. Today had been _too_ perfect. None of her previous birthdays had even come close, and it was all thanks to Mark. It was more than forgiving her and taking her back. He had definitely gone beyond himself, cooking her dinner, writing a song for her, asking her to move back in with him; at some point she began to wonder if it was actually happening. She didn't deserve to be so lucky. As screwed up as things were at the moment, she didn't mind the turn of events – this was life; these things happened. She just wished someone had given her a fair warning in advance.

The noise from the living room was hardly audible. The silence from her bedroom was piercing, nearly hurting her ears. She raised her hand, ready to knock on the door again, but changed her mind halfway. Her arm dropped to the side of her body in certain defeat.

She knew exactly _when_ it had all gone wrong. What she didn't know yet, what she was trying – so far, unsuccessfully – to find out was the _why_. She honestly couldn't understand Mimi's motives to refuse Roger's marriage proposal. But it wasn't the rejection that bothered Maureen. She could identify with that bit. She shuddered inwardly as she thought back of what had happened earlier, when she thought Mark was going to propose to _her_ in this very hallway. She remembered being terrified of his reaction, because she knew what her answer was going to be.

No; it was that look in Mimi's eyes that bothered her. She had caught it for a glimpse of a second, right before Mimi ran off and locked herself in Maureen's bedroom. She couldn't decipher her expression – heartbrokenness? Pain? Revulsion? None of them made sense on their own. Maybe it was a combination of all three, and more. But why would it upset her, why –

Two arms wrapped around her waist then, and she gasped. Thinking it would be Mark, she leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing him in, only to jump back with a start when she realized three seconds later that there was something off about his scent. She pulled away all the way now to meet Collins' amused gaze. His eyes glinted in silent apology as if he realized she had mistaken him for Mark.

"She's still in there?" he asked, nodding towards the door.

"I can't get her to open the door." She expected him to try it himself; for a second she feared he would want to kick the door down. But to her surprise, he just shook his head sorrowfully. She cocked an eyebrow. "You're not going to give it a shot?" If anyone could get Mimi out of that room, Collins was the one.

"I think it's best if we just let her be," he replied, and there was resolve in his voice. "Let's just go back to the party, Reeney," he said, wrapping an arm around her, before he steered her in the opposite direction. Oh right; the party that had gone wrong. Collins was going to Jersey the following day. The party they were throwing wasn't just for her birthday; it was a goodbye party for him as well. She tried not to linger too much on that thought though. She leaned into his embrace and glanced at the door once more before she let him pull her in the living room. She could only hope he was right.

Things seemed to have toned down since Roger stormed out. Someone had put some music on; she recognized it as one of Collins' Leonard Cohen albums. The volume wasn't high, just blending into the background noise of chatter and random clanging of glasses. There were fewer people around now, she noticed. Those who stuck around were huddled together in small groups, speaking in hissed voices in various corners of the room. Cindy was tending her kids by the window. Across the room, Mark was deep in conversation with Alex, who was standing with his back to her. Her forehead cringed in irritation, an instinctive reaction when Alex was concerned.

She still couldn't believe how easily Alex had slipped back into their lives, after running off so abruptly a few years back. And now that he was back – with his very own four-year-old _son_, no less – it was as if he had never left. She had never imagined Alex Meyers as a daddy before. He just wasn't the type. With his brown hair and blue eyes, and that irresistible dimple on his chin, he was every sane girl's fantasy. Fortunately for her, she saw beyond his good looks. A daddy or not, he was still a jerk. And she still despised him. She couldn't care less if he _had_ changed.

As if sensing her eyes on them, Mark looked up just then. He flashed a smile at her – strained and tense, but a smile nonetheless. She felt her frown melt into a softer expression as she returned it. For a moment, it was as if there was no distance between them. It felt as if no one else existed. But reality was harsh, its memory taking over that brief, blissful moment. She felt sorry for him, almost. He seemed so confident about Roger's success, so much so, that she began to wonder if he had part in Roger's decision to propose. Would Roger resent him now, or blame him at his failure? Would he let it ruin their friendship?

Collins whispered an apology in her ear and joined his friends. She went into the kitchen and poured herself some milk – she couldn't have anything stronger than that just now – in a wine glass, because she'd run out of glasses. She cradled it in her hand as she leaned against the counter. She stared contemplatively at the opposite wall as she sipped her milk slowly, thoughtfully, as if it were an expensive Chardonnay.

Now that the earlier memory entered her mind, she couldn't help putting herself in Mimi's place. What if Mark _did_ propose to her? How would she have reacted, if she were in Mimi's place? She did sort of reject Mark, when the idea of marriage did come up, but she could tell from his relieved expression that he wasn't too thrilled about the idea so she couldn't really consider it a rejection. But what if things weren't as simple? What if he shared Roger's feeling about marriage? Those were positive for sure, or he wouldn't have proposed. How would Mark accept her rejection under such circumstances?

The truth was that she was worried about them. She worried about Mimi, who was closed in that room for over an hour now, which – despite Collins' confidence – didn't seem like the most brilliant thing to do. And she worried of what Roger might do to himself because let's face it, the guy didn't respond well to not getting his way. He was sort of like her in that. She worried about Mark because whenever Roger was going through emotional shit of any kind, Mark was taking it personally. She was worried about herself because God knew she couldn't handle another desertion if Mark chose babying Roger over her again. Collins' serenity surprised her, actually. She could hear him now, roaring with laughter over something someone had said, his voice louder than anyone else's.

There was a rustling sound, like running footsteps. She opened her eyes, not even realizing she had closed them, just as Jacob, Alex's son, came to a halt in front of her. He did an involuntary step back, as if he wasn't expecting to find her standing there. He had this wide-eyed expression, as if he was scared of something.

"What's the matter, Jacob?" she asked, kneeling in front of him. "Did you lose your daddy?" God knew where Alex was; probably flirting with one of Collins' female classmates.

Jacob nodded, his bottom lip trembling. His eyes, nothing like his father's, looked huge, chocolate brown, and glistening with the beginning of tears. She felt her heart twitch. She really didn't get along with kids all that well (Mark's niece Rebecca didn't count; she was just a baby, technically not a kid yet), but his expression was heart-wrenching.

"Come on. I'll help you find him," she said, scooping him in her arms. She swayed a little as she stood up; he was heavier than she expected. He clung to her, and she found herself smiling in spite of herself. He didn't seem to like her very much before. She was sort of relieved when he didn't recoil from her now.

As she carried him out of the kitchen, new optimism washed over her. Everything would be okay. It had to be.

Maureen made the journey across the room and Mark turned his head and exhaled. It was some sight to see her carrying Jacob that way and he couldn't help but imagine maybe one day she would be making her way across their very own living room with their very own brown-eyed son. Mark knew that vision was far, far away, however, and he was perfectly content with that. He smiled and Alex caught that his friend's attention had been deferred so he looked over his shoulder just as Jacob climbed onto his back.

"Hey buddy, what's up?" Alex asked as he turned around and wrapped Jacob in his arms. Mark smiled. Alex was the only guy he knew who would call his own son "buddy" and would ask him what was up. He admired how Alex didn't have to put up a front for anyone and that he was completely comfortable with being himself. He was a good guy. Before he vanished that day of April's suicide, Mark could always count on Alex to back him up when Roger was down. All he had to do was call.

Jacob was climbing all over his dad's shoulders and Alex was struggling to keep him from falling. Maureen, of course, laughed at his expense. Just before she walked back, Mark slipped his hand in hers. She looked up and her lips curled to a smile. She squeezed, nodded as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and left them alone.

"Stop being so fussy," said Alex, still wrestling with Jacob's resistance. He looked up at Mark and smirked. "I think he's tired."

"_Nooooo_ tired," griped Jacob as he squirmed around. He was now hanging upside down, his legs over his father's shoulders.

"_Yesssss_ tired. I'd put him to bed, but…" Alex looked over his shoulder to where the hallway was. "…bedroom's still occupied, huh?"

Mark's eyes followed his gaze. Even from where he was standing, he could see the bedroom door that Mimi had barricaded herself in. He could see the light peeking from beneath the door and he hoped he would be able to see a shadow pacing or anything to assure him there was still life in that room. But, it was so still it seemed like Mimi wasn't in there at all.

"The kid's a fighter," said Alex, setting his son down. He was pulling his daddy every which way. "Give me a minute?"

"Take your time," said Mark vacantly. He could have suggested for Alex to use Collins' bedroom, but his mind was still focused on Mimi. He just couldn't understand it. What was she thinking? He wouldn't have encouraged Roger at all to propose if he had even the slightest doubt she would say no. What else was going on with her? He wasn't the type to get it right every time, if ever at all, but this didn't make sense at all. He didn't think he would ever understand… Indeed, he had never been that close to death before, never experienced that moment of slipping away. It would be ridiculous to even think he could try.

What was he supposed to say to Roger? This was all too familiar. He remembered the last time Roger fell into depression. He remembered the lifelessness in his eyes, the staying in bed all day, the moodiness. He remembered the fevers and the vomiting, refilling the icepack every couple of hours and washing the sheets every night so he would be able to sleep well. And even though they starved for their art, it was when Roger refused to eat that worried him the most. It took months to convince him to see a doctor. He wouldn't have done so if Collins hadn't have come back from an out-of-state stint and kicked some sense into him. Did he really want to go through that again?

Roger was his best friend. He needed him. He couldn't just leave him alone and he knew he wasn't going to. Mark had promised Maureen earlier that he would stay the night, but after the proposal incident from hell, he just couldn't. He needs me, Mark had told Maureen, and she just nodded and walked away to mingle with the other party guests. He hoped she wasn't going to be like last time, the time when taking care of Roger meant sacrificing their relationship. Lessons were learned, their relationship was stronger now, he knew what to expect and… and Alex was back. He was just as good as Collins, always able to knock sense into hard-headed people.

He watched as Alex restrained his son from getting into people's purses and various bags set in the corner. Jacob was the spitting image of his dad. It was sort of strange seeing the former Well Hungarians' drummer as a father, but he was a good one.

"Go to Auntie Cindy, go, go," said Alex. Mark watched him make his way back to him with a book in his hand. He reached out an arm. "I was going to give this to Collins because it had his name on it, but it was in the bag Roger came in with. I should have brought more toys, Jacob's going to tear this place apart."

Shit. Roger wasn't supposed to bring the photo album. He had picked it up from the shop before heading back to his apartment to change for the party. There were supposed to be two photo albums, gifts, but the other one was still getting personalized so he needed to get that one before Collins' departure tomorrow. He had left this one on the coffee table back at the loftand didn't expect anyone to think otherwise of it.

"We're supposed to give this to him tomorrow," said Mark. "See? The art on the cover is custom-made. There are two; I'm getting the other one in the morning." He ran his fingers over the red cover. _Tom Collins_ was big and curvy, filling the upper half. There were different collages of peace symbols, ying yangs and pieces of New York City like the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building.

"This looks…" Alex leaned over and studied it carefully. He scratched his head, faux hawk still in tact. Mark could never get his hair as natural-looking and as shiny the way Alex did. He must have stolen products from former girlfriends or something.

"Hey, how do you…?" but he was cut off.

"Snaps!"

"What?"

"Snaps! This is Snaps' work." He was grinning, almost laughing. "Snaps. Come on, Snaps, Mark, you remember her?"

She was sort of hard to forget. Snaps was also one of Roger's ex-band mates, the Well Hungarians' bassist. He didn't know her too well although she was notorious for refereeing fights between the band members. He could definitely relate. The one thing that he remembered the most was that she was kind of strange, and that was probably the understatement of the year. She had unusual habits such as yelling Vincent van Gogh in lieu of son of bitch, and chanting anti-war slogans at guys that tried to hit on her. It made him laugh. She showcased her art by painting something different on her body each day. On four different occasions, she was asked why she body-painted. Every answer was different:

"Freedom of expressing my love for art."

"The body makes for an extraordinary platform and a cheap canvas."

"Advertisement."

"My ancestors believed this would summon the Sun God."

Oh and she was notorious for one other thing: publicly turning down Alex Meyers and kneeing him in the family jewels in front of everyone at Life Café then yelling, "_Meatless balls!_" on the top of her lungs. Alex could never show his face in that café after that episode, but even the humiliation didn't stop him from trying to get into her pants.

"I had no idea she was still in town," said Mark, shaking his head. He looked up at Alex whose eyes were wandering around. "You knew?"

Alex smiled. "Of course I knew." Mark raised a brow and cleared his throat. It was hard to believe that Snaps actually fell for him. "No, Marky, don't your dirty little mind think that."

"You know, I'd appreciate it if you don't talk to me like I was five."

"Sorry, used to it. In fact, I keep in touch with all our band mates. I just had to, you know."

Mark nodded but looked at his feet. He didn't know much about the story of Alex running away because Roger was so secretive about it, but he had only reentered their lives a little less than a year ago. Actually, he only ever hung out with Roger and he figured that was because he was his band mate and probably his best friend as well. Mark never tried to beat himself up about it (because he had to admit, there was a faint hint of jealousy)—Alex knew he owed Roger more than an explanation, especially after leaving when he did and the way he did. And there was no doubt that that guy was going to do everything he could to earn his friend's trust back. Mark couldn't compete with that.

"Do you think Roger is going to be okay?" Alex asked quietly. Mark knew that tone in his voice; he had heard it many times before, that subtle hum of worry, whenever they were concerned about their friend.

"I hope so," said Mark, and this time, possibly the first time, with a little more confidence.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One **

_Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…_

_You're everything I've ever hoped for._

_What, am I not leaving or something?_

_Mimi, will you marry me?_

_Maureen, would you…_

_No._

_Shit, what just happened?_

Consciousness was throwing itself upon her faster than she thought possible, and she fought it with all her might. She didn't want to wake up yet; she didn't want to face the new day. She had never been so emotionally drained. Every bit of her hurt, even her fingernails. She lay still for a moment with her eyes closed, just listening as the city was slowly waking up: distant car horns, stray cats, some drunk who hadn't yet crashed for the night. The sound of her wind-chimes was soft and comforting in the background. It was familiar, like any other morning. Normal.

This realization reassured her. Maybe it meant she got it all wrong. Maybe nothing unusual happened the previous night. Maybe she just thought it happened. Either she was dreaming the whole thing, or she just had too much to drink until she couldn't remember what was real and what wasn't anymore. But that wasn't likely either. She didn't remember drinking too much; in fact, she was pretty sure she didn't drink at all. And she felt too well, too alert. Her head wasn't pounding like during a really bad hangover. Except for the exhaustion, she was perfectly fine. The light from the open window hurt her eyelids. Moaning softly, she squinted and slowly opened her eyes.

She was alone in bed. And once she figured that out, the previous night's events came rushing back. She pulled the covers back over her head with a huff. Mark was one of the last people to leave last night. He thought it would be best if he spent the night at home and made sure Roger was okay and she couldn't possibly argue with that because clearly, Roger was in a bad shape when he had stormed out. At the time, she didn't even mind that it was her birthday, that Mark had promised to be her birthday slave and therefore bid her every command, that she had meant to try on that pink nightie he had gotten her as a gift…

She minded _now_. She didn't resent him for leaving. She understood. But now the bed felt too cold, too empty without him. She smiled to herself, wondering when she had grown so dependent on him. It was so unlike her, always an independent soul, nobody's baby. Nothing could pin her down. And now that he wasn't there, she felt so damn lonely. It was something she wasn't used to. It felt so strange.

Mark's absence had made the previous night's events more realistic, painfully more so. At some point, the party had gone quieter. Even Alex's attempts to revive it had failed. People were leaving, murmuring their goodbyes to Collins, wishing her happy birthday. At some point of the evening, they had discovered Mimi was gone. No one had seen her leave; Collins assumed she had either crawled out through the fire escape in Maureen's bedroom, or made a run to the front door when no one had noticed. Mark had stayed behind to help Collins and her clean up. He had kissed her goodbye before he left, and she could sense he was distracted, probably thinking of what was expecting him at home. She remembered she couldn't sleep afterwards. She was still awake long after Collins had shut his bedroom door behind him, tossing and turning, unable to tone down the thoughts that were whirling in her mind.

She couldn't help but think of the chilling similarity between now and then, when April died. Back then, Mark had chosen tending Roger over being with her, which eventually put an end to their relationship. Well, that probably wasn't very accurate. Roger was his best friend and he was hurting. That was Mark had said when they finally talked it over, about a month or so earlier, before they finally got back together. And even if she understood now, it didn't change the consequences – their relationship died when April did. Now she found herself paralyzed with fear over the possibility that their current relationship, still so new and so fragile, was facing a similar fate.

"Nah, you have nothing to worry about. Mark loves you."

It wasn't the statement that startled her, but the voice. She threw the covers back and a shriek escaped her when their eyes met. She blinked once, twice, but the figure remained standing there, at the foot of her bed, a grin curling on her lips. There was this teasing sparkle in her eyes. It was as if the past few years had never happened. She looked exactly like the last time Maureen had seen her. But she couldn't really be there, could she? She was –

"How did you get in here?"

She even had April's laughter. "Oh, I come to visit you from time to time," she said, her voice echoing April's perfectly.

She looked so real; Maureen felt like reaching out and touching her, but she didn't. It wasn't that she was scared, hell no. She feared any movement on her side would make April disappear. A psychic she had met once had told her that if someone decided to pay you a visit from the world beyond, you'd better listen to what they had to say. Or be forever doomed, the old woman had added, and Maureen shuddered at the memory of her low tone and the glassy look in the woman's eyes. She had strongly believed in the afterlife. In fact, she used to tell Collins time and again that if he believed it too, Angel might pay him a visit someday. He just dismissed her laughing, saying how she was a bit of a loon sometimes, and the subject never came up again. Now she wanted to jump out of bed and drag him into her bedroom so he would see she had been right all along, but she couldn't move. She had never seen a ghost before, and the sight fascinated her. She couldn't possibly leave or look away. April might vanish.

But it didn't mean she wasn't allowed to be curious. "W-what do you want?"

April cocked an eyebrow. "Are you _scared_, Maureen?" she asked, a hint of amazement in her voice.

She snorted. As if she would be scared of a friggin' _ghost_. Huh. "You're not the first ghost who's paid me a visit," she lied nonchalantly, slightly more confident now. Just be cool, she told herself. That's the secret.

"When the hell was this picture taken?" April asked suddenly, holding out a photo for her to see. It was an old one of her and Mark along with Roger and April, something she had found a few days ago while she and Collins were packing his stuff.

"We went to the beach for the weekend and…" her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed as she suddenly caught herself. "_Why_ am I telling you this?"

"Because I can't remember taking this," April rationalized, looking thoughtful again. "I must have been on some trip." She examined the photo again as if she was expecting to find something else in there. Then she did a double take. "How the hell is Mark in this photo? Who pried the camera from him?"

For a moment, she forgot she wasn't supposed to be friendly with her. Reminiscence was stronger than anything else; she could feel her lips curl into a smile. "Collins threatened to feed the fish with it, so Mark sort of had to hand it over."

April giggled, but it soon died out. "I don't remember that," she said, as if this revelation surprised her. Her gaze was partly frustrated, partly awed. "Why do you suppose I don't remember that?" And then, as if she wasn't really expecting a reply, she shook her head. "Hey, you and Mark – congratulations! We didn't think it was possible!"

Her bounciness was getting on Maureen's nerves. She sulked. "Nothing _you_ can get any credit for. You ended it for us, once," she pointed out.

"My suicide isn't a good excuse for ruining you and Mark's relationship," April contradicted her. "Actually, it makes you look selfish."

Apparently, you could be furious with ghosts as well. She glared at April. "It makes _me_ look selfish? How about _you_? How about leaving the guy you loved here alone to _die_?"

April shook her head, unaffected. "Think of it this way. If it wasn't for my death, he would never have found his true love." She smirked at herself, as if she realized how twisted it sounded. She looked at Maureen again, now seriously. "I murdered him. I knew that. I was really scared and I tried to tell him before, but… I knew we had AIDS for a while, but… I don't know; it's so hard to tell people things sometimes, you know?"

It was her apathy that infuriated Maureen the most. How could she talk about it so casually? "So, what, you thought you were helping him by keeping this away from him? He would have found out, sooner or later. Was it worth it, to let him find out the way he did? Couldn't you make it just a little easier on him? But no, you were always one for drama." She couldn't help sounding bitter. It felt as if the words were sitting within her for so long; she just wanted it off her chest. Surprisingly, once it was out, she didn't feel any better.

"Do you have any milk?" asked April, grinning as if she knew something Maureen hadn't. "I'm kind of thirsty."

That was _it_. If she had been furious before, she was properly pissed off now. What the hell? Since when were ghosts _thirsty_? She huffed impatiently. "Look, if you have something to tell me just say it, and leave me the fuck alone. I had a really long day."

April stared at the wall thoughtfully for a moment, as if she wasn't sure where to begin. Maureen thought she'd better brace herself. She grabbed a handful of the sheets with her fists, struggling to restrain herself. She wasn't one for self-control. "I just wanted to tell you… that I heard your prayers. And I know how angry you are with me, but my death proved that Mark is loyal and you aren't. So stop blaming me for your mistakes. Do you mind if I take this picture?"

She reached for her pillow, her eyes shooting fire. She wanted to tell April to fuck off, that Mark loved her and that she had changed no matter what opinion April still had of her. She wanted to tell her to put the picture where she had found it and to leave her the fuck al –

"Reeney, wake _up_!"

She jolted awake. The abrupt knock on the door nearly sent her off the bed. She cast a quick glance around the room, her breathing still wild. She was alone. She threw the covers back, irritated. What the hell? Was she dreaming this? What the hell _was_ in that milk?

There was another pound on the door. "I'm up!" she yelled, cutting Collins off just as he shouted her name again.

"Hurry, we have to be in Purple Sky in one hour!" he reminded her. She vaguely remembered she had called Anthony, the manager of Purple Sky, the previous evening, asking to reschedule their meeting to an earlier hour. She knew Mark wouldn't be able to go with her, so she asked Collins if he would. It probably wasn't the most professional thing to do, but she was nervous. She really needed to have a friendly face around.

She showered and dressed in a haze. She pulled on the first clothes she saw, a tiny black skirt and a green top. She was trying very hard to ignore the scarlet dress, still thrown on top of the chair at the corner of the room from only two nights ago when things were still perfect. She hardly spent time on her hair and makeup—she was way too distracted to. Collins was already in the living room when she stepped out. His eyes ran appreciatively over her outfit; she was glad she had chosen well, even though her heart wasn't fully in it.

"Mark called. He asked if you could call him back."

"Sure, I'll call him now," she said, grabbing the cordless phone from the coffee table. She dialed the number at the loft automatically. She waited Mark to answer, glancing at Collins, who was supposedly reading the New York Times. Her eyes fell on the section at the top of the page. Sports. Huh. He couldn't fool her; she knew him too well. He never read the sports section. She wandered to the kitchen as she waited for Mark to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Mark."

"Maureen, hey." Gah, it was just what she feared. He sounded weary, as if he slept even less than she had. "How are you doing?"

"I'm… okay." It wasn't completely a lie. She felt better than he sounded. She was scared, but she would never tell him that. She hesitated, but then decided to just ask it. "Is everything okay there?"

"Umm… it's like déjà vu all over again," he gravely replied. "He's beating himself up about it. You remember."

All too well. "Yeah, I remember."

"Hey, it's going to be okay," he said, urgently, as if he detected something in her tone. "They'll be fine." Then, more quietly, "_We_'ll be fine."

She laughed softly, opening the fridge. Apparently the same thoughts had kept them both awake. But he sounded so much more reassured than she felt; she wondered how that could be. Normally, it would be the other way around. "And when did you become so confident?" she kept her tone light and playful, but inside she was screaming. Could she be the only one who wasn't optimistic about all this?

"I think it was when I first saw you. I feel like I can do anything."

She felt like rolling her eyes. Sweet, adorable, romantic Mark. She suspected he was using this tactic to distract her, because he knew these words were just the thing to soften her. She found the milk carton and opened it, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could sniff the carton. Weird. It smelled perfectly fine. "I missed you last night," she said, softly, so he would know she wasn't mad, just sorry.

"I missed you, too," he replied. He sounded sorry too. "I don't know what's going to happen; everything's so screwed up. Just when you think everything's perfect…"

It was as if he could read her mind. "This sucks."

"We got through this before. We can get through this again. We'll take care of them later," he said. She smiled at his practicality. It was so… well, Mark. They had been through so much and yet, some things would never change. "Right now, our priority is saying goodbye to Collins and your meeting with this guy from Purple Sky. Excited?"

She laughed nervously. "Scared shitless, to be honest." And not the least up to being nice to strangers just now. "I hope I don't screw this up."

"You're just meeting with him, you're not auditioning," he reminded her, his voice so gentle she wanted to cry. The words had the impact of an embrace. It was almost as if he was there, holding her. "We all know how good you are, Maureen. Good luck, okay?"

"I wish you could be there," she whispered, but immediately regretted it. She didn't mean to sound so selfish; she knew Roger needed Mark more than she did. She cleared her throat, hoping he wouldn't sense her sadness in the short pause. "Collins' bus leaves at two. Meet us there at ten to?"

"Sure, I'll see you guys there," he promised. There was another pause, and then he added, "Maureen, we're going to be fine."

God, she wanted to believe this. So much. But the problem was that he had already promised her this before. That time, he hadn't kept his promise. "Yeah," she replied, her mind everywhere. "I'll see ya."

"I love you."

Her throat suddenly felt thick with tears. "Me too," she whispered, and slowly hung up. Something felt damp against her cheek. She wiped the tears angrily, careful not to smear her mascara. What was she doing? Why was she mourning this relationship so soon? Nothing would happen if they were careful this time. And they would be. Experience had made them stronger. They were able to handle anything.

She shoved the milk carton back into the fridge, wishing April's image could disappear just as fast.

But it didn't. It still lingered at the back of her mind when she and Collins left their apartment to meet Anthony in the club. She walked by Collins' side, mechanically replying his random questions. She was still trying to make sense of it. She couldn't decide if it was really April in her room, or merely a figment of her imagination. She had been thinking about April a lot at the time she and Mark weren't together. This was how he had found her, praying at April's grave. Now that they were back together and her anger towards April subsided, April was just a distant memory of the past, until the previous night when Roger had stormed out and everything came rushing back.

It didn't really matter whether or not April was in her bedroom. It was what she had said that mattered. Maureen knew enough psychology to know a certain part of her subconscious was resurfacing in order to tell herself something, but that hardly made sense to her as well. Yes, she was terrified of history repeating itself as far as her relationship with Mark went, but from there to talking to a _ghost_…

"Are you okay?"

She looked up. Collins' fathomless eyes bore into her. She nodded dismissively. "Fine."

"You don't look so well," he noted casually, but she heard beyond his nonchalance. He was clearly worried.

"I didn't sleep well."

There was this naughty sparkle in his eyes, and she knew he was thinking about Mark. If he had any teasing comment, he kept it to himself. "Are you sure it's just that?"

"I'm fine, Collins, I'm just thinking."

"You haven't said two words since we left the apartment," he pressed. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah, you could say that." She hesitated. Collins didn't speak much since last night. He still didn't seem bothered about what happened. Was he distracted by his upcoming departure? It didn't sound as if he was putting up an act. More than anything, she wanted to be reassured by his serenity, but she couldn't. It was rooted too deep, this feeling that it wasn't over yet. Even speaking to Mark hadn't completely reassured her.

Collins slipped his hand into hers as they crossed the street, squeezing it lightly. "Don't worry. You're gonna be great."

"It's not me I'm worried about." The words slipped before she managed to stop them. They were only a short distance from the club now, probably a block or two away, but Collins stopped on the sidewalk and gave her a closer look. He said nothing, but she knew he was waiting for an explanation for her cryptic statement. She sighed. "How can you act so cool about it?"

"About what, Reeney?"

She wasn't sure whether she was supposed to laugh or cry at his obliviousness. "Last night? Roger and Mimi?"

He eyed her more carefully now. "_That_'s what it's all about? That's the thing that's been bugging you?"

"Am I going crazy?" she asked, now uncertain. Maybe she _was_ making a big deal out of nothing.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her. "Oh, honey, they'll be fine! You know Roger. He's melodramatic. He's not used to not having his way. Sort of like someone I know," he teased, squeezing her waist. "Mimi's hurt his ego, is all. Give him a few days to recover and everything will be back to normal."

"What if it isn't?" He wouldn't be around to fix things. All of a sudden, the thought terrified her. It was strange. She wasn't used to being so under-confident. What was happening to her, in a span of twenty-four hours? She hardly felt like herself, and it scared her.

As if he sensed her helplessness, he shook his head. "Why don't you cross that bridge when you get to it, _if_ you get to it," he said as they resumed their walk. She could see the unlit sign now, a few buildings away. There was a man leaning against the heavy doors, smoking. He was looking in the opposite direction from them. She saw Collins' lips curl into a grin, and she knew it had to be Anthony.

She had met Anthony before, but his appearance always threw her off a bit. Somewhere in his mid-30s, slightly balding and with a small earring on his left ear, Anthony Henley looked like an elementary school principal rather than a club owner. He took another drag of his cigarette when his head suddenly turned in their direction, and nearly dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk when he noticed Collins. "I'll be damned, Tom Collins!"

"Tony, my man," said Collins, his grin getting impossibly wider, as he untangled himself from her and walked towards his friend. She watched them as they patted each other's backs. "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."

"Oh, right, the Jersey thing! Good luck with that." Then Anthony's eyes wandered to her, and he smiled. Her smile was weak, uncertain. He stretched out his hand. "Hi, Maureen, great to have you back."

"Right, I'll leave you two alone," said Collins.

Anthony looked outraged. "No way, you can't leave! Come on, join us. Drinks are on me."

Collins raised an eyebrow. "Drinks before noon? How can I possibly refuse?"

They sat at the bar. The men talked a bit as Anthony was preparing their drinks. Soon she lost interest in their conversation about a mutual friend. She let her eyes wander. The club looked so pitiful at daylight. It had a certain magic in the dark. She was trying hard to shut out the last memory she had from this place when – for the first time in her life – she had run offstage, all because she had realized she had loved Mark. She struggled to focus on the memory of this place at night, when the lights were dim, the alcohol was flowing and the music was pounding. The ceiling was threaded with purple bulbs, like a spider web. When they were lit, they looked like dozens tiny stars. She assumed it was the ceiling which gave the club its name.

She felt her tension slowly evaporating when Anthony joined them. It was impossible to feel uncomfortable around him. Ten minutes into the conversation, she found herself smiling at his compliments and joining his and Collins' jokes. At first she was startled by the sound of her own laughter. It felt weird to do that, slightly inappropriate even, after the night's events, but suddenly she didn't care. She should learn a thing or two from Collins' carelessness. It was her one chance to fix the bad impression she must have left the last time she'd been here. And she was going to fix it.

She caught Collins' eye as Anthony was explaining something about the band's schedule. He did the tiniest motion with his head. She recognized the spark of approval in his eyes. By the time Anthony had walked them to the door, she was her usual chatty self again.

"… So tomorrow at 5. I'll introduce you to everyone and you can work out your setlist and everything," Anthony told her. This time, she had no trouble returning his smile. "Your first performance is in a week. And this time we're putting a fence around the stage so you can't run off."

Collins roared with laughter at that. She rolled her eyes. She had a feeling it was going to become a regular joke from now on. But suddenly, she didn't care, because this time, she made it. She didn't mess things up. She had a new job!

She was still giddy with excitement when they headed home to fetch Collins' things. She all but danced around Collins as he led the way to their building, telling her she was acting like an enthusiastic puppy. His insult went right passed her. Her mind was miles away, planning, fantasizing. It felt as if she had been away for the stage for ages. She missed the spotlights. And once she was there, they would work their usual magic on her, she had no doubt. It was the best therapy of all.

"How much time do I have before we leave again?" she asked as Collins unlocked the door to their apartment. "I wanna change my shoes before we – "

"Wait, Maureen, I want…" his voice trailed off; he laughed nervously. "I've got something for you." He motioned her to follow him into his bedroom. He scanned the room in one look; his backpack was on the bed and he walked over to fetch it. He took a small parcel out of its front pocket.

"Collins, honey, you shouldn't have," she started as he handed it to her. It was smaller than the palm of her hand.

"It's just a little something," he said, and there was this strange urgency in his eyes. "I couldn't resist," his smile was almost apologetic. "I saw it at the window the other day and it made me think of… well, us. And I wanted you to have something to remember me by."

"Silly, I'll remember you regardless. You didn't have to get me anything to…" Words turned into laughter when she removed the lid from the small box. "Collins, what the hell?"

"Well, I couldn't give you mine; it's been in the family for generations. I thought I'd give you the smaller version."

Her finger traced the tiny silver locket. It was shaped exactly like the bigger, much rustier cowbell that was in Collins' possession ever since she knew him. He had gotten it from his great aunt Thomasina (he was named after her or something), who had gotten it from her great aunt some years back. It was known to keep away evil spirits and give its owners good luck. Although he didn't buy the voodoo part, Collins used to take it anywhere for luck, including that job interview that eventually got him into MIT. Last year, the cowbell saved her from a writers' block when she had sat to write her protest. Collins even let her borrow it for the night of the performance.

"So, what, you think there are evil spirits I need to keep away?" she asked playfully, although deep down, she felt she was going to cry again. And she promised herself she wouldn't cry. Damn it.

"I don't see it that way. It brought me luck. I hope it will have the same effect on you. And I think it kinda marks our friendship, too. You were the only one who took me seriously over this piece of family history. Even Mark used to think I lost my marbles. Besides, who else has given you a cowbell as a parting gift?" he asked, looking smug. Then his eyes turned serious again. "Whenever you need me, I won't be far away, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please tell me it's not some sort magical device. Do I need to shake it three times to make you show up?"

"Oh no, you can just call me for that," he joked. She tried to smile, but the lump in her throat was growing too big and distracting. As if he noticed, he took a step forward and wrapped her in a big hug. "I won't always be able to come over, but I'll be thinking about you always."

"I know. Me too," she said quietly, laying her head against his chest. "Thank you."

They just stood there for a moment, holding on to each other. Just for now, she didn't want to think about the shit that'd been going on with Roger and Mimi. She didn't want to dwell over the consequences of the previous night on her and Mark's relationship. Collins was her best friend and he was leaving. She knew she would be devastated when the time finally came, but she didn't think it would hurt that much. She felt as if a part of her heart was ripped out of its place, leaving this gap she knew she'd have trouble refilling once he was gone. It was more than him helping her through the crap in her life in the past few months, or him plotting to get her and Mark together, or him helping her get the job in Purple Sky. He was her first friend in New York, probably her first friend _ever_. She knew he wouldn't be that far away, but the knowing she wouldn't be able to see him every day, knowing he wouldn't be there just when she needed him most…

Tears welled up again. She pulled away from him with difficulty. "I'll see if I can find a necklace to put it on," she said softly, and headed to her bedroom.

She leaned against the closed door and released the breath she didn't even know she was holding. It was just too much. First the party last night, then talking to Mark, and now this. Exhaustion filled her to the core. She couldn't wait for the day to be over.

She exhaled slowly, and headed for her dresser. But right before she reached the top drawer, she remembered something. The picture, the one April held in her hand. It was silly, but if she could see it on the dresser, where she had last left it –

"Maureen, are you ready? We have to leave!"

"Yeah, in a second! I think I lost…" She looked around her frantically. Where did it go? She was sure she had placed it on top of the dresser, but now the photo was gone! She scanned the floor quickly. The window was partly open; maybe a sudden gust of wind caused it to fall off the dresser? She checked everywhere, in every drawer, in her small jewelry box, in her closet, and even beneath her bed, but the photo was nowhere to be found. That _bitch_! Did she take it? She had never said she could keep the damn picture, she had never –

And then she realized what she was thinking, and shook her head furiously as if to send the thought away. Impossible. April couldn't have taken the picture because she wasn't really there! But fact was a fact, and the picture was gone, and there was nothing wrong with the milk –

Breathless, she leaned against the side of her bed and closed her eyes. She felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes again; this time, they were tears of frustration.

"What's going on here?"

Her eyes snapped open. Collins' voice suddenly sounded closer than she expected. He was standing at the doorway, looking at her curiously. She looked like a mess, she was sure. She could feel the dust clinging to her clothes, her skin, her hair.

"What were you doing under your bed, Reeney?"

It sounded as if he was stifling a giggle. She chose to ignore his question. "Collins, were you in my room while I was in the shower this morning?"

"No. Why, what's up? Are you missing something?"

She was going crazy. "Yeah. Something."

She stood back up and straightened her skirt, trying to remove as much of the dust out of it as possible. She could handle her crumbling sanity later. Right now, it was more important to send Collins on his way. She grabbed her bag from the bed and walked passed him out of the room. "Come on, we're gonna be late."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Mark hung up the phone. This wasn't going to be easy for Maureen; he worried about her. He had to find a way to show her he was capable of maintaining this relationship despite what was happening. They had gone through tough times before; they could pull through.

He stared at the phone, his eyes fixed on the receiver. He tapped his fingers on the table, contemplating on whether he should call or not. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle Roger by himself; he needed back-up. He picked the receiver up and dialed Alex's number. He didn't want to sound desperate, but he knew Alex wouldn't say no anyway. No currency would be able to pay off his debt, so if he really wanted to pay Roger back for disappearing the night of April's death, this was it.

A couple of clicks were heard after the phone stopped ringing on the other line. Then Alex's voice was heard. "Donna, you're late. You know, we had a deal, but I'm not going to wait around for you. I pay you by the hour for a reason."

What? Mark felt his face turn warm. Oh no, this wasn't happening to him… again. He truly believed in all of Manhattan, he held the record for the number of times a single person has walked into a room while it was being—ah, he couldn't even think about it, he could hear the screaming orgasms so clearly in his head. This was one reason why he couldn't watch porn, no matter how much they accused him of it. He hated that feeling that he was watching something he shouldn't be watching, that feeling that, hey, those people on TV should have their privacy, too.

"Donna?" There was a hint of anger in his voice, but he lowered it immediately. "Look, I didn't mean to be cross, I'm just… in a hurry. Say something, don't be mad." He sighed. "You know, I need you."

Mark could feel his throat closing up and the overwhelming shame washing over him. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a slight whimper, which could have been mistaken for a cat.

"Come on, Donna, Jacob's still asleep, you know how much easier it is when he's asleep."

Mark threw the phone down as if it had burned him, but missed the hook. There was a dinging sound as the receiver hit the faceplate and Alex's voice could still be heard asking for his... Oy. His hand trembled as he picked up the receiver and placed it near his ear.

It took him a few seconds to recover. "Alex."

There was a pause on the other line. "Who is this?"

"Mark," he said gulping. He twiddled with the phone's cord nervously. A bit of sweat had formed on his forehead and he wiped it with the back of his hand, his glasses slipping off to the tip of his nose.

"God, Mark, why didn't you say anything?" Alex asked.

"Well, I didn't… I wasn't… I didn't want to hear what—_that_… that conversation," stuttered Mark.

"What conversation?" Oh, nice one Alex, pretend it didn't happen.

"You're right, what conversation? I didn't hear anything."

"Mark, are you okay?"

"No—yes!" And for some reason, he could hear Alex grinning on the other side. He wasn't going to stop at anything so Mark was better off just admitting he had heard everything. "I heard, okay? I heard you talking to your prost, alright?"

"My _what_?" Alex was having a ball. His laughter rang in Mark's ears and every time he thought he had regained his composure, he would burst into another fit of giggles. Mark slumped in his chair, rubbed his eyes and waited.

"Are you done?"

"I'm sorry," chortled Alex. "You're too funny, Cohen. Firstly," he cleared his throat, "I don't need to pay for sex. In fact, _I_ should be getting paid! Secondly, Donna is Jacob's babysitter. Thirdly, what kind of father do you think I am?"

"That's third?"

"They're not in any order."

Mark exhaled a breath of relief. If there was one advantage here, it was that he had been humiliated too many times before – and a majority of that was thanks to Alex – to let this little episode get to him. He had to crack up when he heard bits of muffled sniggers and snorting on the other end, his friend's attempt to suppress his laughter.

"Next time you pick up the phone, say something more appropriate, like hello," advised Mark after they had got everything out of their system.

"Not until you change your answering machine into something more appropriate."

"I see your point."

"Anyway Mark, you called for a reason? We're supposed to meet Collins at the bus terminal in a couple of hours."

"Yeah." He was having such a good time that he almost forgot why he called in the first place. It felt like the old days. He hated himself for it, but sometimes he was guilty of living in the past. Maybe it was because he wasn't in this footrace with time, maybe it was because the sickest he had ever been was when he caught the flu at fourteen and had to stay in bed for no less than two weeks, but he didn't interpret no day as today the way the others did. No, things weren't perfect—someone was always dying. He couldn't always count on food on the table nor heat during the winter months. But, he could always count on, even if in misery, a tomorrow. He couldn't help but think of time as more flexible. And sometimes he wished things were the way they used to be.

"Is it about Roger?" asked Alex.

"Uh, yeah," said Mark. "He's not getting out of bed and I think it'll take a smooth tongue to convince him to see Collins off."

"I'm not kissing him."

"I meant tongue of persuasion."

"So did I."

"Alex," said Mark. He shook his head, but he needed that kind of sense of humor to keep his spirits high. "I tried talking to him all night, but I'm not getting anywhere. I need to pick up that other photo album too before I head over there."

"Alright, just give me an hour. I need to wait for Donna. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thanks." Mark dropped the phone back onto its hook. He turned around and leaned against the table. The loft looked shabby with floors that hadn't been swept, windows with water spots galore, the sofas all torn and lumpy. He laughed. Maureen wasn't going to like this; he remembered when she first moved in and she nearly gagged at what four men had done to a perfectly decent loft. She said she was going to have to do something about it. The guys didn't think it was going to be a big deal—having a woman take over the housework was nothing to complain about. No one was planning on a complete renovation. She redecorated the place with leopard print and old lava lamps, furry rugs and posters of George Michael. Benny almost had a fit. Roger drew all over George Michael and as soon as she moved out of the house, he tore them apart and replaced them with his own pictures.

Mark wondered what she would do to the place when she moved back in. He couldn't wait to see it.

He took his coffee cup across the living room and just stood there, basking in the atmosphere and the warmth between his palms. Soft sun rained in, and although most filmmakers' favorite time of day was dawn when nature handled the lighting and ambiance, Mark especially loved the challenge of searching for the nooks and crannies with that perfect amount of shades and constructing his own world. He wanted nothing but to just pick up his camera and film.

Unfortunately, he had other things to do. He walked over to Roger's room and peered inside. He was afraid he was going to find something he wasn't going to like: that subtle, sweet odor of burning cocaine, a smoking bong, red on the windowpane where he had hit the glass out of frustration or Roger's body sleeping in the corner because the bed reminded him too much of comfort and security. To Mark's relief, his friend was sleeping spread on the bed. He even had pajamas on, which in Roger's case, was strange. But, at least he actually thought of it.

It was midday, but Mark didn't feel right waking his friend up. Perhaps he should wait for Alex to deal with him. Ah, that would make you a coward, Mark Cohen… or maybe, apathetic? An emotion that he pretended to have mastered, but actually knew nothing about. Still, it was late and the longer Roger was in the bed, the harder it might be to haul him out. He knocked a few times on the side of the doorway. His friend didn't budge; he was out cold. I don't want to wake him, Mark decided, I can't.

"What time is it?" asked Roger groggily. Mark looked over at the bed in surprise. He actually talked. All night he was trying to get him to say two words.

"You've got an hour or so until noon," he replied. He turned around. He just wanted to walk away and let him rest even though every fiber in his body was telling him he should encourage his roommate to get up and be productive.

"I'll get Alex to wake you up," he said.

"I'll be up in five minutes," murmured Roger.

The curiosity in him was unbearable and he knew the itching wouldn't stop unless he asked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'll be up in an hour." Fuck. Mark knew he should have just walked away. But he also knew that keeping things bottled up could manufacture worse consequences so he needed to try to get Roger to talk. He could vaguely remember those days when he picked up a bottle to suppress the heartache of rejection. That was when he found himself wandering around Maureen's block and suddenly in her apartment. Of course, if it wasn't for that day, they wouldn't be where they were now.

In order to pass time, he tried to do some cleaning up, although he couldn't help but think he was only reshuffling the mess. As much as he liked organization, he had to admit he was the biggest pack rat of them all. He couldn't dare throw any of his shit away, not even the overexposed photographs and negatives. All his film reels were labeled albeit scattered all over the loft. One of them was being used as a bookend and Mark didn't remember ever seeing that one.

It was one of the first things he had ever filmed: band rehearsals with the Well Hungarians. Mark could recall the first time the idea had ever entered Roger's mind to put together a band. They were juniors in high school and his ambitious friend had announced that one of the school's band percussionists, Alex Meyers, was going to be his drummer.

"Didn't he repeat freshman year?" Mark had asked.

"Mrs. Baylor is a prude, she wouldn't have let Alex passed even if he had tried," Roger had responded.

"And sophomore year?"

"That's a myth."

"And kindergarten?"

"He wasn't emotionally ready!" And even though Mark thought his best friend was crazy, he never missed a gig, even when they were booed off stage. They must have gone through half a dozen guitarists until they found Chuck, formally Charles Sangster, the short stop for the baseball team. There were at least four bassists before Snaps was recruited and that wasn't until they moved to the East Village. Ashley Vick was playing his keyboard on the subway (missing three keys) before they picked him up and added him to the band.

Alex was the one who thought of the band's name. It was way before they even started recruiting members and Roger was throwing out ideas from an old encyclopedia Britannica he found while he was smoking in his basement. They were butting heads: Roger wanted the name to have substance while Alex just wanted the name to be clever.

"King of Bohemia _and_ Hungary?" There was a slight touch of false sarcasm in Roger's voice, but he laughed it off.

"How about that?" Mark had suggested. "The Bohemians?"

"That is the worse name ever," said Alex, throwing a French fry at him.

"Because the Beatles and Queen are terrific names," he murmured, but he shut his lips when Alex gave him a warning glare.

"What about Hungary?" asked Roger, absent-mindedly flipping through the pages.

"Hungry? We want to sound like we're kickass rock gods, not starving losers," said Alex.

"Not hungry, Hungary, as in Hungarians," corrected Mark. "You know, the Great Synagogue resides—"

"That's it!" Alex stood up, eyes lit up. "Hungarians! The _Well Hung_-arians! It's brilliant!" Roger laughed, slapped him five and continued to watch his friend perform his victory dance.

"I don't get it," mumbled Mark, sliding down his chair.

"Well hung, Mark," said Alex, sitting down. He leaned forward. "Big dic—"

"Genitalia," said Roger, saving his best friend from turning completely scarlet. He still turned red as far as Mark remembered, however.

There was a Roman numeral on the film reel: III. This was before Ashley joined (Mark remembered he didn't join until Roman numeral X at least), before their sound actually started to resemble music. Mark smiled and inserted the reel back behind the anthology. Maybe he'd watch it later when everyone was alright again. They could laugh at Roger's hair, Chuck's awkward dancing, Alex's drumstick flying offstage and managing to break a ceiling fixture, and Snaps eyes' rolling as if she was saying, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

Everyone was happy then. No one had to worry about disease. Maybe it was that very fact, the lack of worry, that they found themselves in this mess. Mark often wondered about alternative universes and what-ifs. As a filmmaker, it was almost habitual. But, if it weren't for disease and these particular events didn't unfold, Roger wouldn't have found Mimi and Mark wouldn't have had Maureen back in his life. Even if he wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen to Mimi and Roger now. If their relationship was able to crumble, wasn't it likely that his would too?

No, Mark thought, what am I saying? There was no way Roger and Mimi were going to break up. Not if he could help it. He tiptoed out of the loft and headed downstairs to Mimi's apartment. He wanted to make sure she knew that he would always be there for her. He wanted to eliminate every possibility that she might go running back to Benny—he may have been in Greenwich, but that wasn't far and they all knew it only took one phone call.

He raised a hand to knock on her door, but found something strange about it. It was ajar. Mark froze. He observed the door, but couldn't find any hinges unscrewed—in fact, the lock on the door was still in tact. If it was indeed an intruder and he was smart enough to pick the lock, one would hope he was smart enough to close the door after he left.

Still, his heart began to hammer against his chest. He stuck his ear in the open space. It was quiet. He took a deep breath, placed his hand on the knob and pushed. The door produced a slow, creaky sound. Mark looked around, his eyes scanning for anything that looked off. He had only been in her apartment once or twice before and it was tidier now than it was then. He wasn't sure if that was a sign of anything. It seemed okay. Furniture weren't toppled over, there were no broken glass; a few of her costumes were thrown carelessly over a recliner, but that shouldn't be too weird as her days always ended near three in the morning.

Then he saw it. That something that looked off.

He wasn't there when it happened, but he had reenacted the scene in his head countless times. The bathroom door was shut. The hallway was dark and he could see the light from beneath the door. He leapt over her small coffee table and ran to the door, not wanting to believe that something happened in there. The floor suddenly felt wet and the soles of his shoes made a spongy noise. Water coming from underneath was soaking into the carpet. He went for the knob but it was locked.

"Mimi?" he called, pounding on the door. "Are you okay in there?" He wasn't expecting an answer although he desperately hoped for one. He waited until he knew for sure that she wasn't going to answer. He stepped back. The first time he had tried to break a door open, he had nearly dislocated his shoulder and cried for about a week. They were in the eighth grade and Roger had dragged him to a high school party. That's when they first tried marijuana. By one a.m., they had found themselves locked in a closet and Roger had been too stoned to move.

He did get better at it. However, the last time he had to break the door down was when Roger locked himself into his own bathroom shortly after April died…

Mark stepped back as far as he could and pressed himself against the opposite wall. He pushed himself off it and slammed his shoulder onto the door. It made a low thud and he stepped back, inhaled and rammed into the door again, harder this time. He heard the wood break. He braced himself for one more and collided with the door. It swung open.

The faucet was still running in the sink. Mark turned the water off. Mimi was lying over the toilet, her arms wrapped around the rim. Mark's heart was still pummeling against his chest as if it was going to burst. She's alright, thought Mark, partly in relief, partly in frustration. God damn it, how much is that door going to cost me?

"Mimi?" he said, shaking her by the shoulders. She didn't budge. The hem of her dress was soaked; how could she not be awake? "Mimi?" Mark shook his head. I hate this déjà vu feeling, he thought to himself. He lifted her up, placed her in the bathtub and turned on the shower. It poured onto her head and she woke up, gasping and coughing. He turned the water off and held out his hand. She grabbed it and slowly stood up, her knees wobbly and her arms shivering.

"W-what? What happened?" Mimi stammered. Her eyes looked bloodshot, her nose red. Mark put a towel around her shoulders and helped her out.

"I think you had a little too much to drink," said Mark softly. He gently kicked the empty bottle of vodka that had been hiding behind the toilet. Mimi shook her head. He could see tears sliding down her cheeks; she quivered in his arms and Mark squeezed her tightly. We can get through this, he told himself silently. Even when things looked at its worse, he had to think that. If it meant taking care of Roger _and_ Mimi, he had to do all he could to make things as they were.

"Lie down." He took her to the sofa where the sunlight could warm her up. He made some coffee, engaged her with some small talk so she'd feel comfortable, all the while thinking about how awful she must have felt last night. Roger may have been the one rejected, but he wasn't the only one hurt.

"Why did you lock your bathroom door?" asked Mark curiously. He handed her the coffee mug and she took it slowly. She stared inside her mug as if she was trying to figure it out. Mark knew she was trying so hard to recollect.

"I… I don't kn—I don't remember." The words stumbled out of her mouth and it looked as if she was going to cry again. The alcohol must have numbed her memory. "I thought… I thought maybe…I was still at Maureen's…"

"I can tell Collins you weren't feeling well," Mark pointed out. He was sure Collins would understand. Health first, the old professor was always saying.

"I'm okay," said Mimi, her voice scratchy and faint. "I just have a headache. I'm going to take some aspirin, close my eyes. Don't worry about me." She put a hand on his arm and smiled. Even beneath the sickness, the exhaustion, she still had the strength to smile.

"How can I not worry about you?" It was a rhetorical question, but a caring one. She chose to answer him anyway.

"Last night was just… I wasn't out for long. I woke up early this morning feeling sick. I tried some cold water but I guess I passed out. It was probably just the booze, you know?"

"Yeah. I understand." Mark looked into her eyes over his glasses. He really did understand. He remembered his own empty liquor bottles spread across the living room floor. Mark glanced at the clock. "I better go." He told her he had an errand to run before meeting Collins. She nodded and saw him out the door.

"I'll meet you at the buses in a bit," she said. And she closed the door.

"Hey." Alex appeared behind him as he started for the stairs. "How's it?"

"I'll let you see for yourself," said Mark. It was nice to have back**-**up arrive. They walked to the top floor and opened the door. Nothing had changed so he assumed Roger was still in bed. Mark grabbed the bag near the sofa where he kept the photo album gift for Collins. "As long as you don't talk about last night, he should be pretty cooperative."

"Thanks for the heads up," said Alex walking to the fridge.

"Don't eat us dry, huh?" Mark said as he stepped out.

"Two-month old orange juice, moldy cheese and…. I don't know what the fuck that green stuff is." Alex made a face and raised his brow. "Don't worry, I won't… oohh ice-cream…" Mark laughed and waved goodbye.

There was a tiny shop a few blocks over where Mark purchased all his film equipment for a reasonable price. He knew the owner, Sammy, pretty well as he was the first to show him how to develop photos. When he found out about Mark's gift ideas, Sammy told him that he knew someone who could personalize the album covers. He had no clue that itwould be Snaps and he would have never guessed if Alex hadn't told him at the party.

The door slowly swung closed behind him. The shop was brighter than usual. He saw Sammy at the counter fiddling with an old brownie camera, his face scrunched up in frustration. Mark approached him and waved his hand over his eyes.

"Hey Sammy," said Mark smiling. "Nice antique."

"I found it in storage when I was looking for fresh bulbs," he said putting it aside. "It was starting to feel like a speakeasy in here."

Mark laughed. "I know, I was this close in lighting an unfiltered cigarette last time I was here."

Sammy's stared at him blankly. "Stick to photography, Cohen."

"Sorry." Mark looked down and scratched the back of his neck. Awkward. Why was it that people had to make him feel insecure about his comedy? At least he was trying! He heard Sammy snicker and his feet shuffling away.

"I'll get that photo album for you," he said and he disappeared into the back room.

Mark couldn't wait to see what she had done to this album cover. She was so talented when it came to her own body art. And he couldn't wait to see Collins' reaction. It would be the last expression until he left them for God knew how long. He never liked it when Collins left, but for the first time he was actually okay with him leaving. He could always expect postcards from him, photos and gifts when he returned. Mark loved hearing about his adventures of the outside world, outside the Bohemian life, outside the slums where people worried about things like basketball games and whether the milk Dad bought was two-percent or whole.

Mark leaned against the counter and his eyes wandered to the brownie camera. The camera geek in him couldn't help but touch it. He picked the black box-shaped object up delicately, turning and observing it like it was some oversized Rubik's cube. The cardboard was dusty. He closed one eye, tried to turn the lens and peeked through.

"Having fun?" Sammy was standing right in front of him with the photo album between his hands.

Mark set the camera down and smiled guiltily. "You know me, I just had to." Sammy gave him the brown album and Mark flipped it over to see the cover. His jaw almost dropped. An etching was stamped onto the front, an etching of Collins smiling and "actual reality" carved on the bottom. Mark ran his fingers over the metal and awed at the semblance between the drawing and his friend.

"How much is this going to cost me?" asked Mark in disbelief.

"Zero," said a new voice. Snaps. Even if there were a hundred people standing around her, he would still be able to pick her out from the crowd. She was that prominent. She had short, dark blue-black hair, the length just slightly past her ear, always styled in a way so the front was longer than the back. She looked taller today, but that was probably because he remembered she used to walk around without shoes to show off the ink on her leg.

She was still the same. She was wearing a shirt that showed her midriff. A blue guitar was painted across her stomach. Man, he always loved seeing what she'd paint next. It was a different one each time he saw her: a hot sun covering half her face or a heart on her chest. The one he remembered the most was the sheet music and notation she would draw all over her body every time the Well Hungarians had a show. Roger would play off it and stare at her arms every once in a while as if he forgot a verse. She would pretend to hit him with her bass when he got too close.

"Oh my God," said Mark, moving closer.

"Oh, Michelangelo," she corrected. Mark laughed. Right, no cussing, just random painters and historical dates. When he had asked about it years ago, she simply said it was a studying method gone awry. Mark was intimidated by her at first, just by the way she looked and after she yelled, "Draft beer, not boys!" when a guy hit on her. She was sort of a weirdo, but that intrigued him. And surprisingly, she was curious about Mark's work, his photography. Curiosity turned into what seemed like a long-lasting friendship… until the Well Hungarians broke up.

"I can't believe you worked here all this time," said Mark laughing.

She leaned against the counter and smirked. "Me work for him? Are you nutty?" She threw Sammy a half-assed apologetic smile and he rolled his eyes. She turned back to Mark. "I'm a graphic artist, advertising, magazines."

"Sounds mainstream," he said giving her a playful look. "You enjoy it?"

"I love what I do," she said tapping the album cover. "I'd trade the Bohemian life if it meant doing what I loved to do, mainstream or not."

Snaps was different from everyone else he knew. Even though she was the epitome of righteousness and unconventionality, she was also all about ambition and fulfillment. Roger told him that she moved from a well-to-do household in Chicago and moved here on her own volition. Why she moved from comfort to the slums was beyond Mark's reasoning.

"Where is the great Tom Collins off to this time?" Snaps asked.

"Jersey," replied Mark. She made a face and he laughed. She grinned at him like she was so happy to see him, like all these years never happened, the AIDS never happened, the deaths. Mark had to blush. He wasn't used to the attention.

"What time is he leaving?" she asked.

"We're meeting him at two." He paused. "Would you like to come? I bet he misses you."

"I miss him more," she said, "but I can't. I've got to drop some drawings off at the office. But, hey, we should get together and hang out some time. You, Roger, Benny—"

"Benny is dead to us."

"Okay, nix Benny. But, I keep in touch with the band—well, Ashley and Alex. Hey, wasn't a girl living with you at the time? Curly, dark hair, really gorgeous and crazy… like me," she said longingly.

"Maureen," said Mark. He couldn't help but smile.

"Wait, what's that?" She had that smirk again. "Are you guys… Holy Salvador Dali, you two are…" She had that naughty look in her eyes and Mark's face turned hot. Ever the animated personality, she presented three different ways she could express sex using her own two hands. Just as she was about to lick the tip of her index finger, Mark grabbed her arm.

"That's enough, Snaps, thanks for embarrassing me," said Mark, looking over at Sammy who had his head on the counter, trying to repress his laughter.

"You know what would be hot?" whispered Snaps, leaning in. "If you, me and Maureen…"

"No," said Mark suddenly, although why he would refuse such an offer was baffling. He'd think about it later when his legs didn't feel like jelly.

"Okay then, how about just you and me?" she said her voice low and soft. She caressed his arm lightly, the hairs on the back of his neck was standing on end. He could feel his knees weakened as she hummed softly. Mark tried his hardest not to fidget, but she made him nervous. Then she burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, I can't do it," she said covering her face. "Mark, you are so irresistible when it comes to this stuff. You are so cute when you're nervous."

Mark tried to laugh with Sammy and Snaps, but laughing at one's self was not easy. Not fun, either. She was so much like the rest of the guys, always grabbing every opportunity to tease him. He was used to it, though, and he knew it was all in good fun.

"Thanks for giving me hope then snatching it away," said Mark, taking the album and stuffing it in his bag with the other one.

"Oh Mark, you've got a hot woman on your arm," she said.

"And you can't have her."

"Yeah, his masculinity is at stake," said Sammy. Mark threw him a look, but it was clearly ignored. "Remind me, how many girls has she left you for?"

Before Mark could respond to that, Snaps slapped the table. "I knew there was _something_ about her! Damn, I missed out…" She could see someone's fuse was about to short out so she nudged him playfully."No, I would never. Besides, Mark, I'm happily engaged."

"Really?" Wow, Snaps was getting married. Now there was a surprise. "What's her…his…um.."

"His name is James," she said beaming.

"James? James Bond?" Mark couldn't resist.

"James Livingston, which is better than Bond!"

"Mark? What time do you have to meet Collins?" asked Sammy looking at his watch. He showed it to Mark who instantly panicked.

"I have to go!" Mark took out his wallet. He had already paid for the expenses when he picked up the first album, but he couldn't leave without giving Snaps a bit extra. She had put her heart and soul into this.

"No, I don't want your money," said Snaps pushing his hand away. "Unless you want a quickie out back?"

"No."

"Then I don't want your money." Mark smiled and stuck his wallet in his back pocket. Before he ran out the door, Snaps asked him one more question.

"Hey Mark? You still living in that old loft?"

Mark turned around. "Drop by any time."


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: _just stopping by to thank those of you who reviewed the previous chapters, and especially those of you who've read I Should Tell You before. you guys are awesome for keeping up with us after all this time. keep up the reviews and kind words, they make us happy :) -ThexInvisiblexGirl (Maureen)_**

**Chapter Three**

She was determined to forget all about April and the missing photo for the rest of the day. She meant to send Collins off with a smile; the last thing she wanted was him worrying about her while leaving. So she focused on positive thoughts like her meeting with Anthony, the pretty dresses she was going to buy for her new job, and the fact she would be seeing Mark again very soon – it worked. The photo incident was just a distant memory by the time they arrived at the bus station.

They were the first to arrive. She scanned the bustling station in one look and couldn't help the pang of disappointment that hit her at this realization. Mark was always early for everything; she kind of hoped he would be there already. On the way there, she imagined how he would wait for them and she'd hurry towards him and knock him over with a crushing hug.

"He'll be here soon," Collins' voice interrupted her vivid daydream. She didn't have to look at him to know he looked all smug.

"I know," she replied, her eyes still searching.

He laughed. "Just remember you guys are in a public place. Don't embarrass the rest of us when he gets here."

She felt like sticking her tongue at him and reminding him it was _he_ who was pinning for them to get back together. "We'll do our best."

Roger and Alex showed up soon afterwards, and Mark was just at their trail, slightly red in the face and breathing hard as if he had run all the way there. She watched as he caught up with them. Even from a distance, she could see Roger looked like hell, all rumpled and disheveled. He didn't even look ahead as he walked; he just kept staring at the ground as if he was trusting Alex to lead him in the right direction. She exchanged one look with Collins, whose eyes were clouded with concern for a split second, betraying his peaceful apparel.

She had been thinking about launching herself at Mark all the way there, but now when she saw him, her steps were hesitant. She was kind of uncertain what was okay and what wasn't, under the circumstances. He exchanged one look with Alex before he walked passed him and Roger towards her, and wrapped his arms around her. It wasn't the massive hug she had been yearning for, but it would do. "How did it go?" he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

And everything else was forgotten. "Really, _really_ well!" Once she started, there was no stopping her. "I'm starting next week, but I'm supposed to be there tomorrow to meet the band, and he wasn't scary at all – not even close! And I think I'll have to buy a few – "

"Breathe, Maureen," he reminded her, laughing softly.

She sucked in huge breath, causing both of them to grin. For a moment, everything felt… normal. She looked up at him, his eyes still filled with laughter. Relief surged through her. She felt safer with him there. She couldn't even explain this right; it was as if a part of her was missing at his absence, and now she felt whole again.

But then her eyes wandered to Roger, and her grin vanished. Alex had never left his side, she realized; it was almost as if he were his bodyguard. She assumed that was just the case. "How is he doing?" she asked Mark.

Mark's eyes followed hers, and he sighed. "He hasn't said much since last night. I didn't think we could get him to come here. Thank God for Alex." He looked at her more closely then, and a hint of concern shadowed the blue in his eyes. "Are you okay? You look tired."

She shook her head, suddenly remembering what had kept her awake half the night. "You wouldn't believe the dream I…" her voice trailed off as she noticed Mimi approaching. From the corner of her eye, she saw Roger tense. Mark, who had noticed Roger's reaction too, turned his head over his shoulder. She heard Collins murmur "shiiiiiit" under his breath.

That was the understatement of the century. Mimi looked even worse than Roger, which was quite impossible. Her hair was tied back hastily, which made her eyes look huge. They were red and a bit puffy, she noticed, as if she had spent the previous night crying or drinking, possibly both. She couldn't help but feel sorry for Mimi. She looked tiny, even younger than she actually was, and so vulnerable, impossibly more so than ever before. All she wanted was to get over there and give the poor girl a hug.

Untangling herself from Mark's embrace, she ignored Roger's resentful glare and did just that. "Hey, Meems. We thought you weren't coming," she said, as gently as she would speak to a child.

"I thought I wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye," said Collins, advancing towards them. This time he couldn't fool her. It was pretty obvious Mimi's appearance had thrown him off a bit.

Mimi's smile was somewhat strained, but it was a smile, nonetheless. "I'm here," she said. Her quiet assurance seemed to be for more than just her being there.

They just stood there in silence for a moment, each with their own thoughts. It was as if the other travelers didn't exist. Collins looked at them sadly, and sighed. "This is it. God, I'm going to miss you guys so much."

Her eyes burnt, and the lump in her throat thickened. She knew what it meant, but she had promised herself she wouldn't cry. And she had already broken that promise earlier when he had given her the cowbell locket. This time, she was determined to keep it. She tightened her grip around Mimi's waist and fought off the tears.

Collins' gaze wandered from one to the other, and he shook his head in dismay and laughed softly. "It's only Jersey, I'm not going to Oxford, guys. Stop looking as if someone has died."

"Well, _I'm_ not sorry you're leaving, Collins," said Alex. "I've got enough women to fight off and God knows you're a handful."

Mark sniggered, and she rolled her eyes. Alex might be a jerk, but at least he managed to break the ice a bit. Collins threw him a suggestive look. "You love it, Meyers," he said in what she knew he considered his sexiest tone, and blew a kiss in Alex's direction.

"No, I don't!" Alex protested, doing a step back so he could hide behind Roger. She noticed to her satisfaction that he actually looked terrified. That would shut him up for a minute or so. Roger, on the other hand, wasn't cooperating. It was as if he was there in body, but not in spirit. Throughout Alex and Collins' innuendo, he didn't budge; he didn't even crack a smile. She was getting slightly worried now. She had never seen him so apathetic.

Apparently, Mark had caught it too, because he shook his head ever so slightly in Roger's direction, his eyes speaking volumes.

"You take care, Collins," said Roger, and his voice sort of croaked, as if it was the first time he had spoken that day. She assumed it wasn't far from being the case.

Collins nodded and moved his gaze from Roger to Mimi. Maureen still had her arm around Mimi, and she felt the younger girl shrink beneath Collins' gaze. "I can be rest assured I leave you two in good hands, right?" he said, his eyes still moving between Roger and Mimi. "What happened yesterday happened, and you are just going to move on, alright? You're stronger than this. _Both_ of you." He said this last bit nailing Roger with a piercing look.

"Sure, whatever," Roger murmured, looking at his shoes.

"They're going to shape up," said Mark quickly, as if he was afraid Collins would pick on Roger's listlessness. "You don't have to worry, Collins. Right, Roger?"

Alex had to stick his elbow in Roger's ribs to make him raise his head and acknowledge Mark's remark. "Who even wants to," Roger said then, throwing Mark one glance before he turned his attention back to the ground.

"Cool it, Roger," Alex said. Even though she was standing across from them, she caught the subtle warning in Alex's tone.

"He's going to, whether he likes it or not," said Mark, and she saw how Roger look up at that, his eyes shooting fire at Mark for speaking for him. She knew that defensive look. Roger didn't like being babied around. Mark either missed it entirely, or chose to ignore it. "I know him."

"I thought I knew him," muttered Mimi.

"Shh…" Maureen murmured in reply, casting a glance at Roger. He seemed ready to explode. She felt like rolling her eyes at him and telling him to grow the hell up. "Do we really have to do this here?"

"What, I didn't say anything," he mumbled, hardly even looking at her. "It's your boyfriend and his empty promises," he said, shooting Mark a poisonous glare.

"His empty promises?" Mimi blurted out before Maureen managed to stop her. "How about yours?"

"It's nice to know we have one thing in common then; _you_ know all about empty promises, alright," he mocked her. Maureen stared at him in amazement. Never in her life had she thought she'd hear him speak to Mimi with so much venom in his voice.

"At least Mark thinks things through, unlike _some_," Mimi backfired, never once flinching against his vicious glares.

"You know what, Mimi? You're such a hypocrite. You always preach to people about living the moment and giving it all you got – well, I'm doing it! I'm giving it all I got, I asked you to marry me!"

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into! Por dios!" she stopped to catch her breath, but not long enough for him to respond. "You want to get married, but you don't even know what it _means_!" Her voice was beginning to break as tears filled her eyes. She didn't try to wipe them away or hide them; they streamed freely down her cheeks.

Maureen sighed inwardly. Just perfect. She exchanged an anxious look with Mark, who all but launched himself forward and steered Roger aside just as she got a hold on Mimi, murmuring an apology to Collins from over her shoulder. Trust Alex to be able to distract Collins for a few moments until they fixed things.

Once they were a safe distance away, she exploded. "Is it really necessary to make a scene here?" she hissed, glowering at Roger. She saw Mark's anxious expression, and she knew it meant he preferred she wouldn't do this, but she could no longer contain herself. "For fuck's sakes, Roger, get over yourself, Collins is _leaving_!"

"Why don't _you_ get over yourself, Maureen, this is none of your business!"

But before she could even think of a proper way to publicly kick his ass, Mark attacked him. "Don't talk to her like that! She's only trying to help. She can't help it if you're acting like a complete jackass." He lowered his tone and looked at Roger pleadingly. "This isn't about you now. This is about Collins. Look at all he's done for us. You're really going to stand there and whine like you always do?"

Apparently, Roger didn't give a damn. "And what do you mean I don't know what marriage means?" he asked Mimi, his gaze piercing, blaming, as if Mark didn't exist. "I know _damn well_ what it means. Why don't you just admit it? You're just _scared_, scared to be with me for the rest of our lives, as short as that may be! No day but today my ass, Mimi; you're nothing but a coward."

"That's _enough_!" said Maureen, coming to stand between them. From the way Roger was standing, she was suddenly afraid he would try to hurt Mimi. Well, maybe not intentionally, but he was raging and even the slightest shove might harm her with the way she looked. "Listen to yourselves!"

"I'm not finished yet," Roger said, unceremoniously pushing her aside.

She stared at him jaw-dropped. He did _not_ just do that. She shot him her scariest look, and was satisfied when he froze. "Yes you are," she said coldly. "Now, we're going back there, and you're gonna watch your mouth. Collins is going to get the goodbye he deserves, whether you like it or not."

"Sure, sure," Roger managed to murmur under his breath before Mark got hold on him again and steered him back to where Alex and Collins were standing.

"They're good, I promise," Mark assured Collins, throwing Roger a warning look. "Right?"

For a moment, she was afraid Roger was going to explode again. She was actually holding her breath against his attack. But he just inhaled and looked up at Collins. "Have a good ride, Collins. Good luck in Jersey."

Everyone murmured their agreement. Mark was fussing with a bag he had been holding all along. "Before I forget, I have something to give you," he said, taking out two albums. She vaguely remembered him mentioning something about getting them personalized, but that was before the shit with Roger and Mimi happened. Now it seemed like it had happened ages ago.

"It's from, erm, me and Mark," said Alex. She narrowed her eyes at him. Smartass.

"From all of us," Mark corrected, and his eyes met hers briefly before he handed Collins the albums.

"Ah, guys, you shouldn't have," said Collins, and for a moment she thought she detected slight quiver in his voice. She blinked to send away a few stray tears that still lingered. None of that, she told herself fiercely. She watched Collins as he admired the artwork of the covers. They looked amazing, even from a distance. "This is great! Absolutely beautiful work. I didn't know you were into arts and crafts, Mark," he teased, but it didn't last long. He looked at them seriously, lovingly, and this time he actually seemed as if he was going to cry himself. "Thank you, everyone. Ugh, these goodbyes are getting more emotional every time, don't they? You'll be okay here, won't you?"

"Yes," she replied, as fast as she could, and threw Roger a look. "We'll be fine."

Collins' bus pulled from around the curb, coming to a stop a short distance away from them. Realizing she wouldn't be able to fight it, she just let the tears fall. Collins gave them all hugs, and even Alex relented and gave him a one-arm hug. He held her the longest, and kissed the top of her head before he slowly pulled away and began to walk towards the bus. As she watched him go, she felt two arms snaking around her waist. She leaned her back against Mark's chest and tried to tell herself Collins would come back before she knew it.

But the sadness was pushed away the moment the bus disappeared from their sight. There were more urgent things to handle just now. She could feel the fury building up within her as she thought back of everything that had happened only moments ago. Feeling stronger, she pulled herself away from Mark's embrace and turned to face Roger again. "Was it really that difficult to wait until he leaves before doing this, Roger?"

But he didn't even look in her direction. His eyes were all for Mimi. "Don't you love me, Mimi?" His tone was desperate as he looked at her pleadingly.

Mimi sighed in what sounded like helplessness. "Love has nothing to do with this, Ro – why are you being so unfair about this?"

"Unfair?" he echoed, staring at her incredulously. "How am I being unfair?"

"How about by the way you chose to propose, with all that audience? Dios mio, what were you even _thinking_? I thought that you, of all people, would understand!"

"I thought you were happy about us!" Something within Maureen twitched, despite herself. His words were so… sincere. It was more than wounded ego, like Collins had reasoned. As if he was really hurt by Mimi's rejection. "I thought you'd want to share this moment with our friends! I don't see what I did wrong!"

"Can we not do this here?" Mark asked, casting a worried glance around. She seemed to be the only one who heard him. Even Alex seemed transfixed by Roger's accusations.

"I _was_ happy about us – I _am_ happy about us! This isn't the issue!"

"Enlighten me then!" he yelled back at her. "What is your fucking problem, Mimi?"

"Don't you see? This is how other people's endings go – _healthy_ people – not people like you and I! Marriage is about new life, _life_, Roger, which the last time I checked, we don't have much of! How can I say I'll marry you when my days are numbered?"

This didn't make much sense to Maureen. If Mimi's days were numbered, why _wouldn't_ she want to spend them with Roger? If marriage was supposed to be for the rest of your life, then where was the problem?

And surprisingly, Roger was thinking the same thing. "Exactly. That's exactly right. Our days are numbered. Which is why I asked you to marry me, Mimi; I want to be able to share this kind of life with you even if it's only for a day or two or three or who knows how long!"

"I'm here! I'm yours! Why do you need the fanfare? Is marriage the only way for you to know I want to spend the rest of my life with you? Because if it is, then I'm sorry, Roger, but you're the hypocrite, not me."

"Roger's right," she heard herself say before she even finished processing the thought. They all stared at her in amazement, as if they weren't expecting her to side with Roger. To be honest, she wasn't expecting it either, but everything he said sounded… reasonable. She looked at Mimi, hoping she wasn't completely betraying her friend's trust. "You're sick, Mimi. You'll die from it; it's not a secret. Why not get your happy ending – all of it – while you still can? Is it really so wrong to do this Roger's way?"

"There is no choice here," said Mark. He gave her this odd look, almost as if he couldn't believe he was arguing against her. "If Mimi wants to live life as it is now, why should anyone change that for her? If she wants to freeze this moment, why can't she?"

"This isn't the movies, Mark," Roger spattered. "You can't pause and rewind. The film keeps running and eventually it's going to run out," he said, looking meaningfully at Mimi.

"Look," she said, cutting short the argument she could feel coming. "All I'm saying is that we all live on borrowed time here; some of us more than others. You never know what's gonna happen, right? I can get hit by a bus any minute now."

"Maureen, you know a bus wouldn't be able to dent those big knockers of yours. It'll take, like, a train or something." Alex. Who else?

"My _point_ is," she said, silencing him with one glare, "that maybe Roger wanted to do something different with his life before it runs out. He thought marriage was right, and maybe it is. Maybe you _are_ just scared, Meems, but you don't realize that," she said, very gently. She really was trying to make Mimi see her point. She couldn't believe she was arguing in favor of marriage after resisting to it so fiercely when she thought Mark was going to propose to her the other night, but Roger's motives made sense to her. "It's not like it's going to be very different. It will still be the two of you. I don't see how that's a bad thing."

"It is, now," Roger murmured, looking at the ground again.

Mimi shook her head. "You don't understand," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. She looked as if she was going to start crying again. Maureen had never seen her so helpless before. There was something so off about it. Despite the disease, the constant illness, Mimi was always so full of life. The change she had undergone in the last twenty-four hours was heartbreaking.

"It's not about marriage. It's about being together," Mark said, and she had a feeling he was speaking to her especially. She wondered if hearing her speak in favor of marriage had thrown him as off-guard as it did her. "What does it matter if they're officially wed or not? They have something so much deeper than any socially-constructed institution can offer them."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Great. Collins isn't gone for _ten_ minutes and already someone's taking over this philosophy crap."

"Hey, I'm trying to make you understand what she's going through because obviously you don't get her at all."

"Well, obviously, Mark, _you_ don't know much about _me_ or about how I feel, so back the hell off!"

"Here's the reality, Roger," said Mark, unflinching against Roger's attack. "I know you better than anyone else. You don't know what you want. In fact, you don't know yourself at all."

"Yeah, that's the easiest way for you, isn't it? Always has been. Knowing everyone else better than you. You say I don't know myself very well? Well, here's a news-flash, buddy. It's time for you to open your eyes!" He snorted at himself, as if he had just realized something, and laughed bitterly. "_Some_ friend you are. You're good at preaching, Mark, but you're blind when it comes to handling your own life, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look around, Mark!" Roger said again, and there was strange urgency in his voice now. "There's too much you're missing! Starting with Miss I'm-so-changed-and-perfect who's standing next to you!"

She was so into their quarrel that it took her a moment to even realize Roger had spoken about her. She blinked, confused, as she felt everyone's eyes were set on her. He was going way too far with this. What did he even want from her? How dare he involve her in any of this? She had just gone against everything she had ever thought she believed in to defend him!

"Roger, let's go for a walk," said Alex all of a sudden. He didn't look at her, but she saw something flashing in his eyes… No, he couldn't mean –

Roger wasn't having any distractions. "No, it's time he hears a little bit about his picture perfect life! Perfect my ass. Jesus, Mark, you don't know half the things that's been going on around you."

She didn't like this. Something was very, very wrong. She got this weirdest feeling, and she was never one to doubt her instincts. Whatever the hell he meant to do, she wasn't going to let him. She stepped forward. "Guys, come _on_. We should just head home now. _Please_?" she said, trying to grab Roger's arm.

He shoved her off; he never looked away from Mark who looked thunderstruck, slightly scared even. "You think you know everything, don't you, Mark? You think you can capture any second of the world around you with that little camera of yours, but you can't see everything, can you? You can't _see_ what's happening, you're too busy creating what you _want_ to see just so you can finally be content. Lucky for you, you didn't see what was happening with those two."

She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her. The sidewalk didn't feel so steady anymore as the street began to spin, and she could feel she was going pale. He did not just mean… how did he even…

It had always been there, at the back of her mind. The memory was vague at first, with shadows rather than faces, a certain scent, a brief sensation. But now it was getting more concrete, too tangible, and she felt like shutting her eyes, as if that would be enough to send it all away. It was quiet in the room, except for the sound of their ragged breaths, the hiss of their fervent kisses, a choked giggle, a momentary moan or a whimper. Somehow he knew exactly what she wanted. He was rough and tender at the same time. Funny, she'd never thought of him as tender before. His hands were roaming against her heated skin, exploring, searching, caressing. She grabbed the front of his tee-shirt to pull him closer. It was wrong to encourage him, but she was powerless against resistance. 'Stop' slipped from her lips as 'more'. She'd handle the consequences tomorrow, she told herself, intoxicated with the intensity of his kisses. Now she just wanted him to touch her.

Ever since Alex came back into their lives only a few weeks ago, it was more and more difficult to push the memory back; it just kept resurfacing.

She blinked. Only seconds had passed since Roger had said the words, but it felt like much longer. The silence was thick and piercing; no one dared break it. Now she was scared. Alex's face was expressionless, a perfect mask. Mimi looked as if she didn't want to be there, didn't want to take part of this, but yet relieved that this wasn't about her anymore. Roger was glaring at Mark, as if challenging him. Mark just… stood there, with that bewildered expression across his face, as if he couldn't decide what to do with that new input.

She touched the locket that hung around her neck. If you need me, I won't be far away, Collins had said before he left, but she knew that he wouldn't be able to help her, not now. She was on her own on this. It would be the end of everything, everything they had struggled to reconstruct, if this secret was out. And as much as she dreaded it, there was no way she was going to sit and watch as it happen. She had sacrificed too much to admit defeat now. She had to try. "Roger, don't," she whispered, her voice croaking despite herself. One less attempt to prevent the inevitable.

It got his attention. He tore his eyes away from Mark and shot her a cold glare which confirmed her suspicions. Somehow, he knew. And although for some reason he had kept it to himself all these years, he wasn't going to anymore.

She stood there, frozen as a statue, and braced herself against the upcoming explosion.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Mark could feel his fists clenching. At first he thought Roger was just hurt, but he was attacking him like he had done something wrong. He had given up a lot for his so-called best friend. Now it looked as if he was saying all this just to injure him. That wasn't the Roger he remembered. Somewhere along the line, he had changed.

Maureen was pleading for Roger to stop. I want to hear what he has to say, thought Mark. That was strange. For all his life, he could only remember covering his ears and squelching the insults. Maybe he had changed, too.

"Your life's not perfect, Mark, not any more perfect than mine," said Roger, inching closer to him, "because while you thought your life was perfect when you first started seeing Maureen, she was sleeping around with Alex."

Mark could feel a knot in his throat forming and a slight stinging behind his eyes. Did he hear right? He tried to direct his gaze away from the guy who he thought was one of his closest friends, but he couldn't. Alex stood there, unfazed, his eyes fixed on Mark's next move. These were lies. Roger had to be lying. Yet, things wouldn't be so still if it weren't true. He couldn't understand it. He didn't want to.

"What?" Mark said, his voice wavering.

Maureen turned to Roger, her face turning a slight red, her voice fuming. "You son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing?" She jabbed his arm and for a second Mark thought he saw apology in his friend's eyes. "This is your mess, don't get us into this. How _dare_ you—" She stopped suddenly and looked down. He could see her closing her eyes and taking a breath. She looked up at him, her eyes sweet and remorseful, but all Mark could think of was that she was a damn good actress. She reached for his hand. "Mark, please, it's nothing… it was nothing…" She froze.

"Meaning it _was_ something?" He thought she would deny it all. A little part of him wished she had because then he could just be mad at Roger. He didn't want to have to lose her as well.

There was a painful silence. He could see Maureen searching for words, but she seemed stumped. She threw Alex a pleading look. Mark felt as if he was punched in the stomach. How could he have not seen this? There weren't any signs or, maybe, perhaps there were. He had trusted her and had never doubted Alex, not when he offered to help him shop for her birthday gift or even when he stole a kiss from her. Mark had dismissed them all because he had to face it, the hotshot flirted involuntarily and would probably be suffering from withdrawal if he even tried to quit. Now he just felt like an idiot, blindsided by a play he didn't see coming.

"Mark, please—" said Maureen, but didn't have time to finish her sentence.

"No." Mark said firmly. "No Maureen, you lied to me, you _kept_ this from me and I…" He suddenly felt self-conscious. This wasn't going to happen again, not in front of all these people. "I don't want to do this here." He turned around to leave, leave the humiliation, leave his friends, and the one he loved.

"Yeah, go run and hide behind your camera, that'll solve everything!" Roger's voice was distinct, angry and tired. Did he think he was the only one fed up with all this? "You dare blame me for running away. Let's see you handle things for a change!"

He stopped in his footsteps. _What?_ "Assuming you handle everything? You wouldn't know when to take your AZT if it weren't for me!" He had some nerve. He was really willing to throw out everything he's done for him out the window just to save his pride.

"If you stopped treating me like I was disabled, maybe I would remember," he said accusingly. "Maybe I don't need to be reminded of things all the time!"

"Guys, come _on_!" Maureen stepped in between them. "People are staring!"

Oh, _now_ she didn't want the spotlight. She lived for the drama, starved for the attention, except if it wasn't in her favor. "I thought you liked that Maureen, people staring?" He glared at her, waiting for her brilliant answer.

"Leave her alone, Mark." Alex pulled Maureen away and stepped in front of him. He was calm and subdued, looking at him seriously.

"Yeah, don't throw this on her," said Roger. "This is our fight."

"You're the one who pulled her into it," snapped Mark.

"Let's be civil about this." Alex put a hand on his shoulder, but Mark swiped it away and pushed him aside.

"Don't lecture me on civility," he shot back.

He wanted to address Maureen but his two best friends guarded her like watchdogs. This was a turn of events. Did they think he was going to attack her, do something stupid? Maybe something _was_ going on between Alex and Maureen. He just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he didn't have a single clue. Though, given how Alex and Maureen were, it was almost so obvious, so plain. God, it was so hard to stand alone. Usually there was at least one person standing by his side, but apparently…

"Mark, come on." There was a new voice. Mimi. He felt her tiny hand on his arm, pushing him away from the rest. "We can go, it's okay." She was reassuring him that it was okay to leave without having the final say and to walk away from a fight that obviously had no winners. Even though she was fragile, he let her guide him around the corner. He couldn't keep his composure; he stopped after they crossed the street and leaned on a lamppost. He found it hard to breathe. It felt as he was being pinned down to the ground, a ton of weight pressed on his chest.

"Slowly," said Mimi softly. She soothed him, rubbed his back up and down and allowed him to relax. He bit his tongue to keep from losing it, focused on a crack on the pavement to keep his mind from wandering. He promised himself he wouldn't bottle it up any more, but the pain had spread so quickly, he just wanted it to stop.

"Breathe," reminded Mimi. Mark exhaled. He felt his head spinning. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes furiously.

"Thank you," he heard her say. He looked at her, confused. "For defending me. I didn't think anyone was going to understand." She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. He hugged back, relieved to know that he wasn't completely on his own. It was amazing how much she knew—she knew when to back away from the fight, she knew how to ease him, she knew he wouldn't want to talk about his problems so she thanked him instead.

"I think you're right," said Mark. His voice was light and hoarse; he cleared it. "Just because you won't marry him, doesn't mean you don't love him any less. Marrying you doesn't prove anything."

She nodded. There was a hint of happiness in her eyes and he probably figured she was glad that she had someone on her side, too. She pulled him in for another embrace. He knew he had to be the strong one, at least for Mimi's sake because she was so weak. He didn't know how he was going to handle it without Maureen around to be there when he needed someone to hold, to talk to and to take his mind off things.

He let go of her and they began to walk back to the apartment. He hoped no one was following them; the last thing he wanted was Roger to be ten paces behind. Mimi's gait was slower than usual and he noticed her catching her breath a bit too often. He didn't want to let this drain her.

"I'll take care of you," he promised. He offered her a smile.

"Thanks," she said quietly. He figured that she would have refused any help at all if she knew she could take care of herself. Or maybe that wasn't it. Maybe she accepted his aid because she knew it would keep him busy. She knew it would take his mind off his own problems. And she probably also knew he needed the company and most of all a friend. Still, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was some sort of deficit on his part. Maybe he _needed_ someone to take care of; maybe that was why he chose Roger over Maureen. Maybe he liked being depended on; he liked the fact someone wanted and needed him.

A funny sound disrupted the silence. Mimi was chuckling. "What?" he asked, trying not to sound too happy. This was supposed to be miserable for them both. Ah, but her laugh was so infectious.

"You," she said through stifled laughs. "You had _cojones_ back there, Marky. Oh, cielos. Usually, you don't fight back, but you stood your own."

He smiled. Now there was something he didn't hear everyday. She had noticed the change, too. He didn't realize it until she mentioned it, but that newfound confidence he acquired through the course of the year, that confidence he had _earned_ trying to get Maureen back… had backfired on him. Wait a minute. Great. Did he have to convert back to the spineless jelly he was just to get his girlfriend back?

They reached their building and he asked if she needed him to escort her back upstairs. She told him she could manage. He didn't feel like going back to the loft. The ghoul of responsibility loomed there, he knew it, and he didn't want to be responsible just yet.

"I'll check on you later?" asked Mark.

She shook her head. "It's okay. I need to go to work tonight."

"Are you sure?" He was afraid she wasn't stable enough. But, she swore to him she was going to be fine. "I'll check up on you tomorrow morning then, okay?" She nodded and he watched her disappear behind the doors. He didn't even want to go upstairs to grab his camera. Instead he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and kept walking.

He watched his sneakers as they lead him to nowhere in particular. It was tempting to look back at his footsteps; even though they were in invisible, he knew they were there. He glanced up once in a while, not because he wanted to, but because he had to see where he was going. He realized his bohemian life was exactly that. He wished he could turn around, retrace his footsteps, his past, especially in moments when he was the happiest. But, he couldn't so it was best to keep moving forward. The memories were there, but they were unreachable. And even though he wanted to relish today, it was nice to dream about the future once in a while. Gah. Maybe he was a bit of a hypocrite.

Even though his skin was brittle and tore easily, he was tougher inside. That wasn't saying a lot; he couldn't be a big man about things sometimes, but he was able to find ways to go around a difficult situation, either by seeing how he was better off given the circumstances or by ignoring the irritant. He was able to get past Maureen's flirting with other men and women, her secret love affairs, partly because he blamed himself for pushing her away. But, this was different. This was now. This was with someone he knew, a friend. It was new to him and he wasn't sure how to cope.

The Life café conveniently appeared in front of him. Maybe a cup of tea would alleviate some of the pain. He entered the café and nostalgia hit him, quick and refreshing.

"Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?" She was the only person with enough courage to recite those anti-war slogans in a public area. No matter how many people threw her dirty looks, no matter what they thought of her, she would just shrug it off her shoulders. As soon as the guy who was bothering her left, he approached her table near the corner.

"Still works, Snaps?" he asked hovering over her shoulder. She looked up in surprise.

"Yeah, scares them off pretty good," she said glancing back at the guy who had hit on her. "I've tried to be polite to them, tried ignoring them, tried threatening them with security but this is the only thing that works. Sit down, Mark." She gently kicked the seat across from her.

He took the seat and leaned on the table. "You know, people are still sensitive about Vietnam, couldn't you recite the alphabet or something?"

"Yeah, that'll intimidate them," she said grinning.

"Touché." Mark looked around and noticed how much attention she was drawing. He figured half the staff knew her but she was still receiving odd stares: a rising of the eyebrow, a bitter curling of the lips, crumpling of the nose. "They don't bother you?"

She smiled and shook her head. "If it isn't the slogans, it's the body art. They've been staring for as long as I can remember." That sounded familiar. She looked down and traced the rim of her coffee cup. "I don't really like it."

"Then why don't you stop?" he asked.

"Would you stop filming if you got the same stares or behind-the-hand whispers?" she asked honestly. He shook his head. Of course, he wouldn't. The reason why he was a starving filmmaker, why Roger was a starving musician, why Collins, even though his occupation was well-respected, was nonetheless an equally starving professor, was because each one of them loved to do it. It didn't matter whether their parents disapproved, whether mainstream disapproved, or whether they were going hungry.

"It's funny," she continued. "I met James while he was bartending back in SoHo. I was upset because Ashley kept asking for money and I told him I was sick of bailing him out. The bartender kept looking at me all the while I was there; it was demeaning. I was disgusted." She laughed. "When he finally approached me, he began mixing me a drink. Immediately, I said, _18 today, dead tomorrow_."

"Let me guess, that didn't do the trick."

She shook her head. There was a glow in her smile and her eyes were soft of remembrance bliss. "He replied, _I learned this one in Mexico_." She started to laugh in between sentences and he couldn't help but smile with her. Even in pain, she was always refreshing to be with. "And he was just mixing the drink! I was like, what? What is he talking about? I assumed he meant the drink, learned how to make it in Mexico. So I kept going and said, _negotiation not annihilation_. And he said, _I don't like the taste of liquor_."

"But, he's a bartender!" He was sucked into her memory. Even though she didn't mean to, even though she hardly tried, she always had the knack for storytelling. Maybe it was because beneath that façade of body paint and weird mannerisms she was just so real.

"Right? He was speaking to me as if he was engaged in any normal conversation. Fact was, we sounded like lunatics. Finally, I said, hard and slow, _war is unhealthy for children and all living things_. He finished my drink, placed it in front of me, and looked at me carefully for a few minutes. Then he said, _are you going to complain about everything?_ Then he walked away." He watched as she twiddled the earring on her right ear. "Usually, they run. The really dumb ones try to agree with me when I have no interest in the subject. James just… spoke to me as if I was anybody else. And as randomly. I liked that."

"He sounds good for you," he said. He pushed his glasses from the tip of his nose. It was sort of difficult inhaling this breadth of true love and marriage especially after what he had just been through. But, that was different. Mimi didn't want to get married and she had the right to refuse. It wasn't as if there was a contract to say "I do" as soon as you said, "I love you." Besides, Snaps didn't live with disease or on borrowed time. On the contrary, Roger had told him once that she had come from a ritzy background.

"Snaps," he started. He wasn't sure how she was going to take his forwardness. He occupied himself with the swirls and cracks on the table. "You're from Chicago. Two-story house, two car garage, right? Why… here?"

"Hmm." She pushed her cup to him with her index finger. An offer… of trust, maybe? He accepted and took a sip of her coffee. "I don't think I'm any different from you or from your friends. Maybe we have a little more money; I don't know. I moved here for the art, for the atmosphere. I stayed because I found myself content each and everyday. If I found living here was hard, I wouldn't have stayed. A lot of people live here even though it is hard." She paused. It was as if she was cautious about what she was going to say next. "I wasn't attracted to the Bohemian life. It was just there."

"I always thought you were the epitome of Bohemia." He smirked and handed her back her coffee.

"I thought you weren't one for mainstream stereotypes," she said, sipping her drink. Damn. Her and her backfires. "Bohemia is supposed to be about the struggle for art, but most people live it as the art of struggling."

"That's not necessarily their fault."

"I didn't say that. Sometimes it's sad because you struggle for so long in general that you lose perspective. And then it's just hard to be happy. That is why it's so incredibly amazing and fortunate when people like you emerge." She smiled.

He flushed and looked down. He wished she was right, but how could that statement ever be justified? He was just as pessimistic as the next guy. His life was full of ups and downs, half the time he was happy and other times, like now, he was miserable. Snaps made it look too easy. He wanted to know her secret.

"Is there something wrong, Mark?" she asked. "You're usually not this quiet and… philosophical." She brought the cup to her lips then stopped. She raised an eyebrow. "Or are you?"

He snickered. He thought it was fair to tell her a bit about what happened, but he didn't feel comfortable telling her everything. He told her Roger and his girlfriend were having a feud and he wasn't sure what was going to happen to them. She was silent most of the time, but he knew she remembered April and how bad of a shape Roger was. He mentioned briefly about how he and Maureen were bumping heads, but he stuttered every time he said her name so he stopped abruptly. Instead, he told her how frustrating and exhausting it was to be in the middle of all this.

"I know what it's like," she said after he had run out of breath. "Being a referee isn't fun, especially when you care about both parties. You remember Alex and Chuck?"

"Alex comes by every now and then." It was a half lie, but he didn't want to talk about him. He hadn't told her Alex was the reason his relationship was failing… again. "He was there when Collins left."

"Ah. Well, they used to get into fights. And sometimes Roger and Alex. I was sort of the band's umpire. And… Ashley. I lost touch with him less than a year ago. He was always broke and I took him in, tried to get him back on his feet. You know – I know you do –how hard it is to mend a broken soul."

He nodded. Sometimes it felt like it was impossible. It was nice to know someone shared the same experiences, the same feelings. If he wasn't so frightened of her at first meeting, they could have had a stronger friendship. The only band member Roger ever clung on to and invited to hang out with his roommates was Alex. Mark would only see the others at parties, during band rehearsals if he felt like filming them and from the audience at one of their shows. There were times they'd have dinner together, but that was rare.

The sun was just beginning to set when they finally decided to leave the café. He didn't want to go home in fear of what was awaiting him. He wasn't sure if it was the confrontation or the silent treatment that worried him most—both were possible. They walked to his apartment building in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The occasional flirt/hotshot/onlooker would wander his eyes to Snaps' artwork. When that happened, she'd inch closer to Mark, using him as her shield or perhaps as an excuse for them to fuck off.

"I'd invite you upstairs but…" He scratched his head and glanced up at the loft's windows.

"…but it's highly improper, impolite and inappropriate," finished Snaps nodding. She grinned. "Alright, you talked me into it."

He did a double take. Before he could open his mouth to speak, she ran for the stairs. Why wasn't he surprised? Adventure was her middle name. At least, it might as well have been. Snaps Adventure something… something. As soon as he caught up with her, she was already pulling the door open. He figured Roger was home and forgot to lock it. She peeked in.

"I think he's in his room," she hissed.

"You afraid?" asked Mark, with a playful leer. She gave him a confused look as if the question was incomprehensible to her and stepped inside. He followed her, his posture a little straighter. He was happy not to be alone.

"I want to say this place looks the same," she said turning around, surveying the space. "But it looks worse." Her eyes locked onto where Roger's room was. She stared at it thoughtfully, her feet glued to the ground. She was probably worrying about him. She probably wanted to talk to him, but she was too nice to Mark to abandon him.

"I… better go," she said prying her gaze off Roger's room.

"You going to take a cab?"

"I'll take the bus or something."

"Look, why don't you stay the night?" he asked. Funny, he never usually asked friends to stay over. He never had the courage to. But, he felt it was the courteous thing to do. Hospitality wasn't atypical in this unit. In fact, it was almost mandatory. Alex had always been welcomed to crash on their sofa back in the day and Collins would ask Maureen to stay the night once in a while (that is, before he asked her to move in).

"I don—" Just then Roger materialized into the living room. She trailed off as he crossed the kitchen and grabbed a cup out of the cupboard.

"Snaps," he addressed her monotonously. He poured himself some water. Mark couldn't believe he'd treat a guest, his former bassist no less, with such disrespect. He was getting tired of his immaturity.

"After a few years, I think she deserves a proper hello," said Mark. He couldn't help himself.

As he walked back to his room, he looked at Snaps' general direction. "Did you hear something, Snaps?" She just stood there, looking at him in disbelief. "I didn't think so." And he disappeared. Mark controlled himself because he didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want to get worked up and get into an argument he knew he couldn't win. He felt a lump in his throat rising, his blood boiling. He walked into his own room and took off his glasses, set it on the dresser. He rubbed his eyes, plopped into his bed and buried his face in the pillow. God, he was just so exhausted.

"It's okay." He felt the opposite side of the bed dive as another body occupied its space. He turned around and saw Snaps lying beside him, a good distance away. She knew to respect his personal space and she was careful not to make him nervous. For some reason, some very odd reason, he wasn't. She was on his team and he needed that.

"What… are you doing?" he had to ask.

It took her a moment to respond. "You sleep on the couch." He laughed. His eyes trailed down to the guitar painted on her stomach, so detailed and delicately handled. He followed her legs, which were curled up a bit. She had kicked her heels off. "Marky, you shouldn't be looking," she whispered.

He blushed. "Sorry," he muttered. He had only had one other woman in his bed and it hurt thinking that she wasn't here right now. Why was everything such a mess?

"You okay?" she asked.

He wanted to tell her. But… "If you had feelings for Maureen, knowing we were going out, would you have gone for her?"

She thought for a moment. She pursed her lips. "Depends. How long have you been going out?"

He shrugged. "Say, a week and a half."

"Sure." She laughed. He knew she wasn't taking the hypothetical seriously. "But I wouldn't have had much success."

"Alex did," he mumbled, lowering his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, well that's Alex."

He froze and stared at her. She knew? Somehow she read his eyes, read his mind, because she slipped his hand in his, intertwined their fingers. She squeezed in apology. He looked up quickly and saw her beaming, her lips full and red. Her hair looked bluer in the lack of light, lazing over her eyes. She was so pretty. He gently swept them away and he noticed her eyes glinted a bit. He noticed something else too. A tiny teardrop drawn, almost hidden, beside her right eye.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I paint it when I miss him," she replied. She looked at him and he knew the rest of her reply: Everyday. She placed her hand on his and pressed it against her cheek. He wasn't sure if it was Snaps' sensitivity that made him so comfortable or if it was Maureen's love that made him so confident. Either way, it was a change he couldn't believe he was bearing. She let go of his hand and fiddled with her earring. She only had one.

"Is it special?" he asked.

"My engagement ring." She turned on her back and looked at the ceiling. "He has the other on his left ear. I love him so much." She laughed quietly. "I hate needles. Pinching holes in my body. They scare me. One of the reasons I don't wear tattoos or piercing. Except…"

He waited for her to complete her thought. She slowly shut her eyes and soon she was fast asleep. He too loved Maureen so much he'd do things he normally wouldn't want to do. Like buy her a negligee or write a song for her. Then what made them so different from Snaps and James? The question lingered in his mind, but it was quickly dismissed. Snaps' soft breathing lulled him to sleep.

It was amazing how emotion could fatigue a person so mercilessly. He sensed Snaps getting out of bed in the middle of the night, but he was too tired to stop her from going home so late. He just wanted to fall back asleep and dream nothing, worry about nothing.

A loud, slightly impatient knock on the door woke him up. He opened his eyes and Snaps was still beside him, sleeping. She had stayed. He crept out of bed, each move careful and quiet. He slipped his glasses on and picked up his watch. Seven-thirty a.m. It was so early. He stretched his arms, yawned groggily, scratched his disheveled hair and pulled the covers over Snaps before leaving to answer the door.

Maureen was standing on the other side. It was like an anvil hit him on the head. The gods sure played cruel tricks.

"Hey," she said, a soft laughter on her lips. He couldn't understand why she would be so happy. If she opted to come over and pretend everything was okay, she was deluded. "Can I come in?"

I am throwing hospitality out the window, he decided bitterly. "What do you want?"

"I haven't slept all night. We need to talk about this." She didn't try to walk pass him, but he knew she wanted in. In all honestly, he just didn't want to deal with her right now.

"I don't want to talk about it." His hand gripped the side of the door and he was tempted to inch it close.

"We _have_ to talk about it," she pressed.

That was just like her. For years he had taken her bossing him around, telling him what to do, how to act, what he should believe in. And he had conceded because he loved her and he thought she knew best, there wasn't any harm in it. When they got back together, she had given him that backbone and now he was using it against her.

"You know, come back another day and maybe then I'll be convinced that you actually care about me." He pushed the door close, but her foot stepped onto the threshold.

"We're going to talk about it _now_." He knew her. She was going to camp out, make picket signs and shout protest chants if she had to.

He pulled the door open. "What could you possibly say to make this any better?"

"I could start by saying I'm sorry." She looked over her shoulder. "But can you please let me in so I don't have to say this in the hallway?"

Defeated, he reluctantly moved back and let her by. He closed the door, but didn't take two paces forward. He didn't want to let his guard down. "You just can't expect me to just accept your apology."

"I wasn't planning on it," she replied. She paused. "Roger shouldn't have said it."

That had to be the worst start of an apology ever. "He shouldn't have said it? You should have _told_ me! He was more of a friend than I thought you were." For a moment, he couldn't believe what he said. But, he stood by it. At least Roger gave him the truth.

"No, wait," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't mean it like that, I meant… he made it sound worse than it was. I'll explain everything, if you let me."

Worse than it was. He didn't even want to imagine worse. "You slept with him, right?"

Her eyes fell to her shoes. She tried to pick up her head and meet his gaze. "Yes, but—"

"Then there is absolutely nothing you can say that'll make me feel any better about this. What's the point?"

"Mark, please don't do this. If I didn't think we needed to talk about this, I wouldn't be here."

She always talked in circles. It was her way of stalling. "What do you want to get off your chest, Maureen? Just say it because you're wasting my time."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It only happened once. I know that's not an excuse, but I thought you should know before you…" She stopped. She probably caught how irrational she sounded. "You and I were going out for less than a month. I never thought we were going to last, I don't think _anyone_ thought we were going to last. For the first time in my life, I felt _guilty_. I almost hated you for this—making _me_ feel guilty. I was so confused; I couldn't understand what you were doing to me. You, of all people."

She took a step closer and reached for his hand, but he stepped back. "We went through so much to get here, Mark. Do you really want to ruin it over one meaningless night?

He shook his head and walked past her. "You don't get it. You've slept with Alex. Okay. Big deal. Half of New York has. And don't think it comes to a surprise to me that you've fooled around before we happened because God knows I was fucking clueless about that. You never told me, even when we got back together. Even when he came back into our lives. None of you told me."

"I tried to tell you, so many times, but I just… I couldn't. There was no right way to do this, there was never a right time, and then he disappeared and I thought, good! He's out of our lives now. And I forgot about it. And then he came back. You brought him to my apartment and I just…" She took another breath. "I should have told you. But I didn't know how to bring it up again."

He could sense the sincerity and frailty in her voice. He had heard this same exact story before when she fooled around before, the same performance. Joanne had confided in him about the very same performances. Although, she never looked as vulnerable as she did now. She never seemed as helpless.

"I just…" He softened his voice. "How am I supposed to trust you? How do I know nothing's going on between you two?"

"Nothing is going on between Alex and I. He wishes." She moved a step closer to him and for a minute he thought he would let her. "Come on, Mark. I promised to be good."

She did. And look what happened. He crossed the living room and back to the door. "But, I just realized, there's so much I don't know. Maybe Roger was right, maybe I am blind. I was then, am now. How am I supposed to trust you? Look, if I can't trust Alex, the guy who, by the way, brags about every tail he's ever jumped on, then how can I ever trust him with you? He can be charming when he wants to be and you, well…" He scoffed. "We don't have to reiterate what you're known for."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Apparently, he hit a nerve. "If this is what you think, maybe this _is_ a waste of time. Only it's not your time, it's mine."

"I'm not stopping you from leaving, Maureen." He was quiet but didn't falter. He could see her eyes sadly looking at him. Please, don't cry, he begged quietly. He wouldn't be able to stand that.

"It doesn't have to end this way, Mark."

End. After all this. "I don't want it to."

"Then why are you making this so difficult?"

What? There she went pointing fingers, acting as if this was his entire fault. "I'm making this—you're making this difficult for me!"

"I came to apologize, but you're so stubborn, you won't even hear me out!"

"And you have this twisted expectation that I'm supposed to understand and be okay with your apology! Well, I'm not, I'm not happy with you coming over here, like you think you know what's best and how to fix this. Learn to get over yourself, Maureen, you're not the only one hurting and I don't deal the way you do." He pulled the door open.

Her eyes were cloudy and dark, and he knew she was going to have the last say. "What I was _expecting_ was us being able to talk this over, but it's definitely not happening, so maybe I should just go. Maybe this relationship isn't worth fighting for because you're definitely not up to it. I should have known. It's just like the last time." And she stormed out.

He shut the door and groaned. He heard footsteps and Snaps stood there across the room. "You heard?"

She shrugged. "Not a word." He knew she did. She walked over to him and wrapped him into an embrace. She held him tight and for the first time, he felt like he could get through this.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

She stomped blindly down the street in the direction of her building. Her thoughts were still a blur, gloomy and furious all at the same time, although she wasn't really sure at whom the fury was aimed. Mostly at Mark, at the moment, she decided, her eyes narrowing in spite of herself as she thought back on their conversation, only moments ago in the loft. She kicked a stone out of her way, using more force than necessary. Why wouldn't he understand? Why would he doubt her? Hadn't she proved that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him, that she would do anything to be with him? She thought they were finally okay, that absolutely nothing could come between them now. She believed that the darkest part of their lives was way behind them. Apparently, she was wrong, big time. They were still in the dark.

She spent the previous night staring emptily at the opposite wall, wondering where it all went wrong. Roger's words were still stinging, even in retrospect. He didn't even apologize after Mark walked away, followed by Mimi. Well, she didn't really give him a chance to; she just stormed away in the opposite direction. It was way over her head. She couldn't handle either him or Alex, especially Alex. At some point of the night she sank into frenzied slumber. It hardly eased the exhaustion, but it filled her with this strange resolve. She would go and talk to Mark. She did not change so much just to see this relationship crumble like so many things in her life. It wouldn't be like Joanne and her. This one was going to last.

She wiped stray tears from her eyes now as she made her way upstairs, scolding her own naivety. She just wanted to curl back into bed and stay there until it was time for her rehearsals at Purple Sky.

All that flew out of the window when she reached her floor. Roger was sitting on the ground, leaning against the door. He looked as if he had been waiting for a while. He looked up as if he heard her footsteps, and immediately stood up. He didn't walk towards her, just waited for her to approach. But she wasn't up for another argument. She was too tired, too upset for it. She needed a little time for the wounds to heal.

"Go away," she pleaded, as soon as she was standing in front of him.

"Maureen, I know you're mad," he said quickly, as if he had expected her to shove him off. "It was supposed to be a jab on Mark; it had nothing to do with you."

She felt like rolling her eyes at him. "As it turns out, it has everything to do with me," she replied bitterly, then sighed and shook her head. "Just go, Roger. I don't want to talk about this now." Of course, just when she needed her keys, she couldn't find them. She huffed impatiently and searched deeper in her bag. She just wanted to get away from him. She finally found them and fished them out.

As if he realized what she was going to do, he stepped in front of the door, blocking her way to the lock. "Did Mark turn you down?"

Hearing the name alone was like a punch to her stomach. The lump down her throat was thickening; she could feel more tears coming again. Unable to speak, she simply nodded, not meeting his eyes.

He placed his hands on her arms and lowered his head as if he was trying to meet her eyes. Her pretense lasted one moment longer before she directed her now tearful gaze with his. His eyes widened ever so slightly when he detected the tears. This was enough to make her turn away. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her. She didn't need his pity. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to get in his face. Look at me, Maureen. I really am sorry."

She could tell his apology was sincere, but she couldn't handle it just now. She shoved his hands away gently; he moved a bit to allow her to unlock the door. She didn't invite him in, but she didn't shut the door in his face either. She wandered into the living room and heard him shut the door behind him. His quiet footsteps indicated that he followed her into the living room.

There, finally in her private space, in the safety of her own apartment, she allowed herself to explode. "What the hell where you thinking? Did it occur to you that Mark – how did you even – did Alex – God, Roger, I could _kill_ you for doing this!"

He just stood there, squinting whenever her voice raised an octave. "I know, I know. I messed up. I just… how could I _not_ know? It's Alex."

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was obvious. Almost as if… as if everyone had known. Her eyes narrowed. It shouldn't surprise her that Alex was the kiss-and-tell sort of guy. Or, in his case, screw-and-tell. It only increased her loathing towards him. "Did Alex tell you?"

To her surprise, Roger shook his head. "No. He never wanted this outed to Mark so he was afraid to tell me, but," he hesitated, but only for a moment, "I overheard him talking about it to someone. I kept it from Mark – we both kept it from Mark – because it really isn't our business, even though we should have."

"So, what, suddenly you decided to do him a favor?" she asked, enraged. "It wasn't your business back then and it sure isn't your goddamn business now!"

"Did you really think you could take this secret to your grave?"

There was something patronizing in his tone. She glowered at him. "What's it to you?"

"You weren't being fair to him, were you? Screwing his friend on the side and even when he takes you back after all the times you've hurt him, you're still willing to put your relationship on the line to hide your dirty little secret. You're willing to sacrifice all this just so you can say you've been a good little girl and haven't done him wrong."

For a moment she just stood there, staring at him speechlessly. There was so much malice in his voice, as if he had kept it all in and had been waiting for the fortunate moment to do this. It caught her off-guard because when she and Mark got back together, he gave them his blessing. If he had felt that way all along, why hadn't he said something earlier? She knew he was right, or partially right, and his words hurt where they hit, but mostly because she felt betrayed by him. She sided with him the previous day – he should be on _her_ side, not speaking to her as if… as if…

But she wasn't surprised, not really. It was so much like him – always laying the blame on someone else, doing anything he could to keep himself out of any shit that had been going on around him.

"How did this turn out to be a conversation about me?" she demanded. "This is about _your_ shit, Roger, keep mine out of it!" Her voice broke towards the end, but she didn't care anymore. She had never felt so frustrated, so desperate. She just needed to let it out of her system. "You have no idea what we've been through to get to where we are now, so maybe you should just shut the hell up about things you don't know!"

It was as if he detected the frustration in her voice, or maybe it was the tears that softened him. He shook his head and stepped closer to her, his eyes filled with silent pleading. "Look, I understand what you're going through. And I'm sorry I can't undo what I've done, but I'm not entirely at fault here. Swallow some pride and admit it, Maureen."

Boy, he had some nerve. "My pride has nothing to do with this – _your_ pride does," she backfired, her eyes flaring. But she was filled with the strangest satisfaction. She had finally figured it out – finally figured _him_ out. "You just couldn't stand him not siding with you, right? You're so used to him being there, you're so used to depending on him, that once he chose someone else's side, you felt you had to get back at him."

He just stared at her, as speechless as she herself had been a moment ago. "Maybe you're right," he said. He crossed the room and sat on the sofa, lowering his head as he spoke again. "Mark has always been there for me. It seemed that for a while, I didn't have to lean on him for everything; you know, I had Mimi. I guess I always expect him to be there whenever I fall, but now," he looked up at her. "He's got you. And I don't like being alone."

His confession caught her off-guard. She wasn't used to see him so defeated. The sadness in his eyes was overwhelming. She felt her heart softening despite herself. She went over to sit beside him. "I don't know if it's any comfort to you, but as things are right now, he doesn't really want me either."

"He still cares about you," he replied, hardly looking at her. Then, as if he changed his mind, he locked his eyes with hers. His gaze was serious, boring into her with such intensity she had never experienced with him before. "You and Alex have done everything to keep this a secret. What's going on?"

Again with this question. What was up with everyone? "_Nothing_ is going on. It only happened once. I tried to tell Mark that, but he…" her voice trailed off. The memory hurt too much; she had to look away. "Do you think he'll ever forgive me?"

She didn't even realize she had asked it aloud until he softly replied. "You know, Mark isn't stupid. He sees the sideway glances at other girls, the kisses blown to other men. He doesn't like to think about it, but he knows about it." He paused, as if to catch his breath. "It's one thing to fool around with someone he doesn't know, and it's another thing to sleep with one of his best friends."

She didn't try to deny this last bit because she knew he was right. It only made her feel worse about the whole thing. "Those side glances and kisses are history. I'm not like that anymore. You know that! I thought Mark knew it, too." She suddenly remembered something Mimi had said the day before. _I thought I knew him_. How painfully true that statement was.

Roger eyed her skeptically. "You think that after everything Mark has been through with you, he's going to trust you with Alex?"

"Fine, I'll get Alex to talk to him then," she blurted out.

Roger snorted. "Did you forget what happened yesterday? Mark was this close to pushing Alex in front of a bus."

She was getting agitated and restless. She sprang up and began pacing about the room. "Well, _you_ tell me what to do, since you got me into this! How do I solve this?"

"I don't know. Honestly, Maureen, I'm still kind of bitter and I'm not up to fixing your relationship with Mark."

Of course he was. She was so absorbed in her own desperation that she had forgotten he had his own shit to worry about. She sighed and sat back. "I know. I'm sorry." She reached for his hand slowly, holding her breath for rejection. "How are you holding up?"

He didn't try to pull her hand away. His hand was warm, easing into her soft grip. "I've dealt with worse, I suppose." He looked up at her, his expression heart-wrenching. "Why wouldn't she marry me?"

"Oh, honey…" she gave his hand a little squeeze before she laced their fingers together. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

"When Mimi was in the hospital, that scared the shit out of me. I'm tired of being this close to losing her." His gaze was urgent. "What would you have said, if you were Mimi?"

She hesitated. How could she possibly tell him that she _was_ in Mimi's place only two nights ago, and she had done exactly what Mimi did? "I can't answer that," she replied softly, hoping he would just let it go.

She should have known better. He was too much like her. "Just tell me," he pressed. "I need to know."

She shook her head. "You can't put me in Mimi's shoes. We're in different places, I can't – "

"I know you can," he cut her off, squeezing her hand a little in his. "I just… I need to know that there's hope, that's all."

"There's _always_ hope," she promised him. "A leap of faith, remember?"

He made a face, and she knew he wasn't pleased with her answer. Nonetheless, she was satisfied she managed to escape the need to answer his question. "Thanks. For back there, too."

Her desperation was reflected from his eyes. She couldn't help but laugh bitterly at their situation. "We're a pretty fucked up pair, aren't we?"

He wrapped his arms around her in silent agreement. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. A voice at the back of her mind told her this was wrong. She should be furious at him, not giving in so easily. But to be honest, she was tired of that voice. She just wanted him to hold her. Like her, Roger was hurting. No one could understand her better than him.

Roger eased them down to a lying position as he reached for the remote and turned the TV on. They could use the distraction, he said. She couldn't agree more. Some random sitcom was on. Perfect. She cuddled against him and forced herself to pay attention to the happenings onscreen, to Roger's heartbeat close to her ear, to the warmth of his arms as they enveloped her in a hug. Anything but her own mind.

She didn't want to close her eyes. If she did, she'd remember, and she didn't want to risk that. All this time she had managed to push it back into a dark corner and close it shut, and now… it was trying to break out, and she found herself powerless against it. She was all but sinking beneath its weight. She couldn't fight it anymore.

The night when it happened was painfully clear in her mind, despite her endless attempts to push it away. Alex was throwing a party, and they were all invited. A blackout party, the guys had called it. It sounded so random; she remembered asking Mark what was that all about. He explained that there was a notice in Alex's building about shutting off the electricity for the night. A party was just Alex's way to pass the time. Maybe Alex was afraid of the dark, Collins had joked. It'd been weeks since she had been to _any_ party, so she thought a blackout party would do.

There were less people there than she had expected; just Roger's bandmates, and a couple of girls she assumed had been Alex's personal guests. Pretty soon everyone was scattered around the living room, each with the group with which they had come. Someone suggested they play Spin the Bottle. A few people protested, but eventually everyone formed a circle while Alex went to bring an empty Coke bottle from the kitchen counter. He handed the bottle to one of his bandmates, whose name she couldn't remember, and the game began.

Nothing exceptionally exciting happened at first; a spin, a kiss, a random shot for anyone who didn't have the balls to tongue wrestle, as Chuck had put it. She was beginning to think that maybe those who had protested had a point after all. But then about three rounds later, Alex span the bottle, and it stopped in front of Collins. Everyone roared with laughter, of course. It wasn't a secret Collins had a bit of a crush on Alex. Collins' eyes were actually sparkling with excitement as he watched Alex expectantly. Alex looked horrified for a split second, but then a devilish grin stretched on his lips when he reached out and tilted the bottle a little so it would point at April, who was sitting next to Collins. This of course entailed a different kind of roaring.

"Hey, that's not fair, Alex!"

"That's _cheating_!"

"Take it like a man, Meyers!"

"Come here and get what you deserve, sweetie pie," said Collins, puckering his lips at Alex, who shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, I'm kissing April! _Ap-ril_!" he said slowly, as if they were all five-year-olds. No one could take him seriously. And of course he won. He crossed the circle and pressed his lips against April's. Roger made a whole show about gagging as Alex kissed his girlfriend. Alex gave him the finger from over his shoulder.

"Maureen, baby, wake up."

She squinted. The voice was too close, too distinct, and had nothing to do with the recollection as she now remembered it. It took her a moment to get herself together. She blinked, and groaned softly. She was still lying across Roger's chest, and he had his hands on her back, soothingly rubbing it. "Did I fall asleep?" she asked, looking up at him.

There was almost no trace to the sadness in his eyes now; it was no more than a shadow. He smiled sleepily at her. "We both did."

"Oh, man," she said through a yawn. The thought of getting up and facing the rest of the day was unappealing. She thought a moment, and laid her head back against his chest.

He laughed, and gently untangled himself from her. "I'm glad you're all comfortable, but I'd better head home."

She walked him to the door where he gave her another hug before leaving, and promised he'd check up on her later. She saw how reluctant he was to leave; it was there in the way he walked down the hall, in the way he carried himself. And if things between him and Mark were as bad as she imagined, she couldn't blame him.

Since it was still early, and she didn't have to be at Purple Sky until five, she decided to go back to bed. When she next opened her eyes, she had a little more than an hour to get ready. Beneath the weariness and misery, she was excited. Shortly afterwards, she was on her way. Her steps down the street were determined, although she had to remind herself twice to smile. She didn't mean to get there all sour-faced. She was going to give this chance everything she had. Although she had decided against it, for one afternoon she _wanted_ to be her former selfish self. She'd handle them all later, she thought. Right now, she needed her reputation saved.

She should have known she wouldn't be able to just walk away from it. She couldn't expect the ghosts to stay shut in her apartment. Now that she had let herself remember, it was all coming back to her, as fast as a tidal wave and more tangible than ever.

The game continued with a few more entertaining moments, like Mark having to kiss a girl named Claudine, and going all red in the face. When he couldn't do it, they dared him to drink a shot. Claudine decided to do the honor; she took the glass and poured it down his throat to the sound of everyone's wooing. Maureen's eyes narrowed at Alex's girl-of-the-week. She was starting to get on her nerves.

"Jealous?" a voice whispered in her ear. She turned to find Alex's face inches from hers. His eyes glimmered.

"Of course not," she replied tersely. She wasn't jealous, no. Annoyed, yes. Pissed off, definitely, but not jealous. Mostly she felt like shoving the bitch aside and clarifying to her that Mark was with _her_.

"It could have been worse if he _had_ kissed her." Alex again.

She turned and shot him a glare. "At least he follows rules, unlike _some_."

"Ah, but rules are boring. Rules are meant to be broken. I'm pretty sure you see my point," he said, and cocked an eyebrow. "Or am I wrong and don't you break rules as well?"

For a moment, she was speechless. There was something in his eyes, in the way he was addressing her… "It depends," she managed, still trying to decode his tone.

"Depends on…?"

"Bring it on, Maureen!" Roger hauled suddenly.

She blinked. She didn't even realize the game resumed. The bottle now pointed at her, and everyone, especially the guys, looked at her with sheer anticipation. A second later, she saw why.

The bassist from Roger's band was sitting on the other side of the bottle. Snaps, Maureen thought she was called. She was into body art, Maureen knew as much. She had a small butterfly drawn at the side of her lips, and a few flowers that started at her left wrist and stretched along her arm. She licked her lips a bit, and smiled sweetly at Maureen. "Are you game?"

Maureen hesitated, but only for a moment. She threw a glance at Mark, who looked wide-eyed and horrified, then at Alex, who looked thrilled. "Yes."

She pushed the heavy doors of the club and stepped inside. It was slightly darker in there, and a few degrees cooler. Even from across the room she could see the small stage was occupied. A man was plugging wires to a huge speaker, one of those that had always given her troubles. The same ones Mark had always known how to handle, she thought bitterly. She shook her head. Enough.

She couldn't see Anthony anywhere. She was about to go to the bar and ask for him when a girl about her age suddenly noticed her. "You must be Maureen!" she said, skipping offstage. The three guys with her lifted their heads at her announcement. She was by Maureen's side in a second, her hand outstretched. "Hi, I'm Amber."

"Hey," she smiled, shaking Amber's hand.

"You're here just on time. Ryan thought you were gonna be late, like all the other artists we had to play withinthe past few months, but I told him I had a good feeling about you, and I was right!" she prattled. It was nice to meet someone as chatty as she herself had been on a good day. As far as Maureen was concerned, it was the perfect distraction for her gloomy state-of-mind. "Come and meet the rest of the band," Amber said, pulling her forward.

There were four of them. Ryan was unofficially in charge of the band. He was the oldest member, the one who had seen musicians come and go and yet always stuck around somehow. He sort of reminded her of Roger that way. "You're here on the infamous three-night-trial, aren't you?" he asked her, and she nodded. Anthony had given her three nights to prove herself. The better she did, the more gigs she'd get, he had said.

Aside for Ryan, the band also consisted of Lee, Pete and Amber, whom she had already met. They were regulars at Purple Sky. When they weren't accompanying new artists like herself, their setlist included a few popular covers, but mostly their own she was "on trial" performance dates landed on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, when business was sluggish.

Ryan checked his watch. "You're here early, and we didn't get a chance to warm up yet. Why don't you sit over there and we'll play you some of our stuff, so you'll see what we're about?" he suggested.

"Sure," she smiled and took a seat. She kind of liked them already. She definitely liked their music. They had a softer sound than the Well Hungarians, Roger's band as she remembered it. These guys played jazz and blues mostly, and she had a feeling they would definitely understand her own music. Her sound was always much more toned down than Roger's, and he used to joke at how uncharacteristically corny of her it was to write ballads. But honestly, she couldn't see herself writing anything else no matter how outspoken she may be.

But even the music couldn't silence the voices in her head, the images in her mind. The sounds swam around her, sliding into incoherency, as she drifted again.

It wasn't her first time kissing a girl. It was the first time she had an audience. The guys went nuts when their lips touched, and they wouldn't shut up until they pulled away. The kiss was brief and kind of sweet, and Snaps sucked on her bottom lip right before she pulled away. Maureen sat back, keeping a tiny grin on her lips as Roger and Benny's cheers slowly ceased.

"Definitely the hottest kiss of the game," Alex whispered in her ear again. "Too bad you're not into breaking rules."

"What would have happened if I was? Hypothetically, of course."

"Hypothetically," he said, moving even closer to her. His breath was hot against her neck. Her heartbeat quickened. She hoped no one had noticed. "We could ignore the stupid bottle and _I _could kiss you."

"And how would that be?"

His smile widened an inch. "Epic."

She returned his smile, but quickly looked away. She could feel her cheeks flaring, and the last thing she wanted was him to see her blush. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was her heart racing as if he were the first guy who tried to lure her with compliments and pretty words? There was something in his expression, hidden beyond the mischief. He couldn't really mean it, could he…?

"Maureen?"

Her head snapped up; her eyes met Ryan's. He looked concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sure. Sorry. You guys are really good."

He looked satisfied to hear it. "Get over here, let's see what you can do to your music."

Wonders, was the answer. She couldn't remember a time when her music sounded so good played by others. She had done a few gigs like this before, but the sound was always off somehow. But these guys – they just got her music to perfection. It felt as if she finally found a place where people could appreciate her music for what it was, people with no prejudices about her personality.

When she headed home later, her enthusiasm was difficult to restrain. She couldn't believe how well this rehearsal went, and it was only the first! She couldn't wait until next week. In her blissful haze, she hardly felt the sidewalk beneath her, almost as if she was floating or flying. She needed to share this with someone, she needed someone else to be as happy as she was right now, she needed to go and tell Mark that –

Thinking the name had brought her to a halt. The light in her eyes dimmed, the smile was gone. She couldn't call Mark. It was over, although it had hardly even started.

The lights at Alex'sparty were still on when they started the clothespins game. She and Alex were paired up together for the third round. Alex could hardly hide his satisfaction when Roger had called out her name. She glanced at him with feigned timidity from beneath her lashes. She noticed the naughty sparkle in his eyes a moment before Benny pulled the blindfold across his eyes, murmuring something about how damn lucky he was.

April waved her hand in front of Alex's covered eyes to make sure he saw nothing. She stuck five wooden pins in Maureen's clothes, giggling during the process. Benny and Roger hooted when she got one at the back of her skirt. They brought Alex closer to her. His lips were parted slightly, as if with a grin.

Collins set his watch ready, studying it intently. "Okay, you know the rules, Alex. You have three minutes to find five pins. _Go_!"

No one could sit still. Roger came to sit closer and get a better view. The atmosphere in the tiny living room was electrifying as everyone watched Alex make his first move. His hands felt warm through the thin fabric of her top as he laid them on her waist. He found the first pin at the back of her top on first touch. Some of the guys hollered. Alex's grin got an inch wider.

"Take your time," she murmured. She knew no one else could hear but him. They were cheering too loudly.

"Don't worry, I'm planning on it," he whispered back, slipping his hands to the hem of her skirt. His fingers fluttered against the fabric for a moment, coming up empty.

He pulled her closer in one subtle movement; she all but crashed against his chest. It took all the willpower she had not to wrap a leg around his waist. She tried not to flinch when he brought his hands back to her waist. She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her when he accidentally brushed the skin beneath her top. "Ticklish, are we?" he commented. There was laughter in his voice.

"A little," she managed breathlessly. _Very_ was a more suitable reply, but she had a feeling he might use it in his favor if she had said it.

He let one of his hands wander up her chest, ever so slightly brushing against her right breast. She held back a gasp, but she was sure he could feel the constant thumping of her heart, regardless.

"Lower, Alex!"

She wanted to shoot Roger a deadly glare for killing the mood, but she didn't dare look away or the magic would be broken. Alex, who apparently felt the same, threw one of the pins he had in his hands. It landed on Benny's face. She sniggered.

"You missed," she told Alex in a whisper.

He smiled in silent response, his hand covering her pulse point for a moment, before it slid along her shoulder.

He traced the strap of her top, finding the second pin. His other hand was wandering down her skirt again, just barely missing a third. He took her hand and raised her arm, motioning her to keep it up as he traced a searching finger down her side. Her skin burned wherever his finger touched. She instinctively folded her armswhen he reached her ribcage.

"No moving," he reminded her, gently untangling her arms. The whisper gave her goosebumps, easing the fire on her skin. He raised her other arm over her head and did the same. She bit her lip to swallow back the whimper that was building within her.

His hands were on her skirt again, feeling the fabric. His fingers slipped just bellow the hem and up. His fingers made their way up her thigh. He was nowhere near where April had placed the pin, but the fire seemed to increase now, consuming her from the inside. She found herself holding her breath.

"Time's _up_!"

Slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, Alex stepped away from her. A sudden gust of wind replaced the warmth of his hands; she held back a protest. He tore the blindfold from his eyes in one swift movement. His eyes met hers then, and as he brushed against her, supposedly by accident, he murmured,"Later, then."

She could hear the phone ring at her apartment when she fit the keys into the lock. "Shit," she murmured, trying to get the door opened. She dropped her bag by the door and raced for the phone. "Mark?"

The line was dead. She dropped to the couch breathlessly, still sort of hazy because of her daydream. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Had her place always been so quiet? Maybe it had been, but now it bothered her. She was still holding the phone; she looked at it thoughtfully. It was so easy, too easy. Just dial. Maybe he calmed down.

And maybe he didn't, she thought, dropping the phone on the couch. Maybe he just needed some time. _They_ needed some time.

The way that night ended was the hardest to repress, and she was proud of herself when she had managed it. They played Truth or Dare, and Alex had dared her to stay and help him clean up. Somehow, it went unnoticed. She still couldn't understand how everyone bought it so easily, considering how well they all knew him.

Mark was reluctant to leave her behind, but she assured him that she would be okay. He didn't linger to argue; Roger was in bad shape, drunk as hell, and Mark thought he'd better just get him home. Everyone else started to leave then, and slowly the living room emptied, until it was just Alex and her. She watched him as he locked the door behind Chuck, who was the last to leave. Then he slowly turned to face her, grinning mischievously.

"_Help me clean up_?" she echoed his earlier dare, smiling playfully. "Is that the best you've got?"

"The best I could come up with, under the circumstances," he replied.

She didn't take her eyes off him as he advanced towards her with deliberate slowness. It was there all evening, that… thing between them. And she played along because, to be honest, it had been a while. It was no more than a game. Mark was the sweetest guy, but he was awful at flirting. She sort of wanted to assure herself she hadn't lost her touch.

"I bet he fell for it," he added. His fingers brushed over the thin fabric of her skirt. An involuntary shudder went through her. His grin got an inch wider; he obviously knew the effect he had on her. "Seriously, though. What is a girl like you doing with a guy like him?" he murmured, his lips grazing her skin just bellow her ear. A jolt of electricity shot through her.

"Define 'a girl like you'," she softly commanded, her eyelids fluttering shut.

His hands came to rest on her hips as he pulled her slightly closer. He didn't reply right away. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his eyes darker than normal. At first she thought it was a trick of the candlelight, but it was more than that. He leaned closer to her ear again. "Gorgeous," he murmured, kissing the same spot as before. "Irresistible" – another kiss, slightly lower – "Sexy as hell" – a moan escaped her as his lips settled on the crook of her neck. "Mmm… my thoughts exactly." She felt him smile against her skin before he began nibbling at her neck. Her hands went to his head, her fingers easily threading in his hair. "But you haven't answered _my_ question yet."

He pulled away; her fingers knotted in his hair in protest. He smiled as if he noticed. "What are you doing with him, Maureen?" he asked again.

"I kind of get the impression you have a problem with that," she pointed out, wondering why he even cared.

"Oh, no, I would never. I'm just sort of wondering… how long it's gonna last."

She loosened his hair and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pressed her even tighter against him. His fingers drew small circles against her sides. They were so close their noses were almost touching. She didn't reply, just cocked an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

"I give it a week," he murmured, his lips meeting hers halfway in a passionate kiss.

She buried her face in the pillow, trying to suffocate the images in her head. The memory burnt like fire. Who knew he'd be so wrong.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You don't know how much the feedback means to us. If I could give out cookies, I would lol. We've worked so hard to do the prequel justice. Your continued support is much appreciated and I just hope everyone's enjoying the fic. Peace, love and Zachary Quinto, Madame Hatter. **_

**Chapter Six**

There was struggling on the other side of the door: feet shuffling across kitchen tiles, pots slipping from her fingers and clanking to the ground, and heavy strides thudding across the room and back. At least she was home and awake. There were a number of things she could have done to escape her problems and the possibility she would retreat to coasting or get loaded was suspended in the air, accessible, corporeal. Mark wasn't going to let that happen. He knocked on the door and waited.

Several minutes passed until Mimi answered. She was wearing an old sports t-shirt that reached to her knees. Her hair was tied in a knot; her skin was drenched with perspiration. These signs and symptoms were so recognizable to him that it was almost second nature, as easy as a doctor deciphering an x-ray, a lawyer translating a contract full of legalese, a mechanic knowing the problem with the sound of an engine. It was harder before, with Roger, because he didn't know the remedies and he blamed himself for failing his friend. Now that it was practically normal, it was easier to blame the addict.

"Mimi, are you okay?" The question was forward with a hint of uneasiness. He looked over her shoulder for any evidence that might corroborate his suspicions.

"Yeah, I'm just trying to make breakfast," she said. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Um, do you need help?"

"I don't think there's anything you can do to help." Her eyes were droopy and a tired smile sat upon her lips. She stepped aside and gestured him to come in. Steadily, he followed her to the kitchen, trying not to let her see him searching for clues. Smoke, an odor, another empty bottle of vodka, maybe. He took a seat at the table and watched her pick up the pans that she had dropped earlier.

"So, why are you up so early?" he asked. The silence was killing him. "I thought you had work last night."

"I couldn't stay long." She avoided eye contact. "I had one of the girls cover for me. I just didn't feel right, you know?"

"Where'd you go?"

"Home. Here. Do you want omelets or something? Fried potatoes?"

He smiled. "You sound like my mother."

"Spanish hospitality." She started peeling potatoes in the sink. Her voice was soft and husky as if she had just woken up. "My mama taught me how to cook. When I was ten, it was mandatory to assist her in the kitchen. I was the mi—damn it!" She dropped the knife and it clattered in the sink. She wrapped her hand around her finger and turned the faucet on. He could see tears coming from her eyes as she held her hands under the running water.

He got up and walked over to her. "Is it bad?"

"No, I just wasn't expecting it," she said and sniffed. He took her injured hand and examined it. She was right, it wasn't bad at all. It was probably the equivalent to a paper cut, minor, but hurt like fuck. His eyes involuntarily wandered along her arm, searching for anything peculiar like a fresh wound or scar. Suddenly she pulled her arm back and held it against her chest. "What are you doing?" she demanded. He was blown.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he managed to sputter.

She looked at him angrily. There was a trace of disappointment in her eyes that made him feel like a jackass. "I am not using again," she retorted.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "But, you know, that's not the first time you've said that and it's hard resisting temptation—"

"What do you know about it?"

He tried to be calm. He could hear her voice rising and the last thing he needed was another argument under his belt. "I'm just saying it's an addiction, Mimi."

"_I_ know that. Last time I checked I was the junkie, not you. I know how hard it is to stop." She walked to the living room and looked out the window. She was quiet but her words were still audible. "Don't lead yourself to believe you're the only one who's changed."

That shut him up. For a minute he convinced himself he _was_ the only one capable of change, but he knew very well his friends were just as strong, probably stronger. He twisted logic to show that this same mess Roger and Mimi found themselves in was because they were inept to move forward only to realize he and Maureen were no different. Maybe it was a defense tactic or maybe he just wanted to feel superior for once. Maybe he was taking advantage of this newfound confidence. He wasn't quite sure. But it made him feel like scum.

He was still Mark… wasn't he? "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I was just worried and… I was an idiot. I just care about you."

The room was rid of sound. All he could hear were muffled noises of exhaust pipes and people chatting from outside. She finally spoke. "I like you taking care of me, but I don't like being spied on. Roger was right, we don't need to be babied."

He felt his knees weaken. He wish she hadn't have said that. If she was going to agree with someone she currently was not speaking to then there must have been some truth in it. All he wanted to do was be a good friend. "I don't know how to do anything else," he admitted shamefaced.

She made his way to him and slipped her hand in his. "Just trust me a little more," she said and squeezed. He nodded and pulled her in for an embrace.

"I didn't mean to jump to conclusions," he said. "You were edgy and kept dropping things, trembling—"

"I know. But it's not drugs."

"Right." And in his pathetic attempt to make her laugh, he took a handful of her hair and inhaled. "Not alcohol either." It worked and the tension had finally loosened enough so he could leave her apartment with a worry-free conscience. Before he was able to close the front door, however, she posed a last-minute question.

"Do you ever think about the chance of another Maureen?"

It was an odd query, one that she had carefully phrase, but he still couldn't figure out what she was asking exactly. He could tell she was embarrassed by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" She rummaged around for the right words to say. "With where we are now, do you think about other…" she paused and put a face on. "It's not that I don't wish for Roger and I to get back together, it's not that I don't love him enough, it's just… what if the worst happens… there are men at Cat Scratch who…"

He wasn't very comfortable with the subject, but he understood where she was coming from. He didn't know whether to give her his honest answer, which he couldn't even figure out, or an answer that would make her feel better. "I don't think about it much," he said finally. It was an answer neither liked, but no other answer would do.

If he had to be completely frank, it had crossed his mind. It was true he didn't dwell on it because he loved Maureen too much to even care. But, to say he never thought of alternative universes would be a lie. There was no other who ever wanted him as much as Maureen… well, there was Michelle, but that relationship was never to be spoken of again.

He went back up to his loft and saw Snaps towel-drying her hair. He halted in his footsteps. The last woman to use their bathroom was Maureen. One day, he had gotten home and went in to use the toilet when he suddenly heard the shower come on. He ran out before she noticed, but he couldn't look at her for at least a week without turning bright red. And even so, he always tried to find an excuse to stand at the doorway in hopes she'd invite him in. You're a sick fool, he had told himself many times. But, a sick fool may be alright if he caught a glimpse of Maureen Johnson in the shower.

"The water okay?" That was lame, Mark Cohen, he scolded himself.

"Fine. I better hurry home," she said. As she went back into the bedroom to toss the towel and gather her things, he heard her say, "I don't want anyone to see me without ink on my skin."

"Why not?" he asked.

She returned hanging her purse around her shoulder. "Because I feel naked without it."

Naked. There was a thought. He shook his head, appalled with himself. Come on, Mark, let's not go there, he told himself, she's just a friend. "Um, Snaps?"

"Yeah?"

He stopped. Something fluttered in his stomach and a lump suddenly rose in his throat. Now, he was just being silly. But, he had to try. A change of scenery was sorely needed. "Do you mind if I spend the night at your place?" He had to jam his hands in his pockets to hide his shaking.

Fortunately, she didn't seem fazed by the question. "Not at all, I have a spare room." She moved closer, took another step to walk past him then brushed her hips against his. She drew her lips near his ear. "Unless you want to share the same mattress again to which I say, my bed is your bed." A chill ran up his spine. Without touching her, he could feel the dampness of her skin and he couldn't help but take in the fragrance of his shampoo—_his_ shampoo—in her hair. She poked him in the stomach and he jolted back nervously.

"You're too funny," she said laughing. "Go grab some clothes. If you hurry, we can catch the bus."

It didn't take him more than five minutes to grab his backpack and stuff whatever he could in there. There really was no thinking involved when guys packed, he figured. His system was to grab a handful and hope for a clean one to find its way in there. He threw in the essentials, a toothbrush and his camera, and they were on their way.

On the bus ride over, she asked him about Maureen and about the fight they had this morning. He hadn't given her any details earlier and he still wasn't up to talking about it. He knew she wouldn't be satisfied with, "I'm right, she's wrong," so he just kept his mouth shut.

Coincidentally, Snaps also lived on the top floor. "A loft," she said as they climbed up the stairs, "exactly like yours." It wasn't exactly like his. Hers was a well-kept, fully furnished studio loft that exploded with color.

"I think a rainbow threw up in here," he said looking around. Hers was also a three-bedroom space, but it looked bigger and far homier than his.

"You're just jealous," she said lightheartedly. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong. The shades were drawn, a dark blue resembling the night, the sofas looked softer than his bed and there was a dining table as well as a breakfast nook. He noticed the floors were white hardwood with blots of paint.

"I drip a lot of paint," she said noticing his gaze, "but I think it's more artistic this way. Besides, I don't have to worry about laying out newspapers every time I—ow!" What looked like an oversized metal chrysalis dangled from the ceiling and had hit her on the head. "I always run into this thing. Why did I put this here? Ideas seem so good at the time and it's not until after the deed's done you regret it all. You just don't know how hard it was to figure out a way to hang this up there." She was rubbing her temple furiously, trying to mask a smile that would have revealed how stupid she thought she looked.

He laughed and stroke where the red was on her skin. Her hair was still damp, her skin soft. He liked her without the make-up. A hand rested on his chest and he fought back inside on how he should be feeling. He wasn't in love with her and it was true. You can't let your misery take advantage of this, he told himself. Besides, she was engaged. He felt her push him away gently.

"Lock the doors," she said.

He swallowed. "Wh-what?"

"Hurry." Her voice was soft but commanding, matching her regality. She walked toward the living room. "You'll like it here." His head told him no, think wisely, but his heart and other parts of his anatomy weren't persuaded. Still, she had a curl on her lips that was so inviting. There was a pounding in his chest and the conflict of should he or shouldn't he—

"Mark, you okay?" she asked from across the room. "Come on, close the door and get over here. I've got a great view." The curtains flew open and welcomed the morning star. "And use all the security locks, I have a stalker a flight down who freaks me out."

Oh. Whatever happened to logic, he told himself. He did as he was told and the light revealed something on the walls that the dark had protected and veiled with its shadows. There were a number of walls around the space, most of them covered in murals, landscapes, scenes, worlds only she would be able to think up. Some were political and playful like Mickey Mouse standing on top of Earth with Pluto by his side, as if he was claiming every planet. Others were NYC-driven, subways and vendors along with the struggling artist playing his guitar and the generous passerby dropping a bill in his case. Another wall was of Venice and other Italian characteristics: a gondola, a couple sharing gelato, and stout buildings.

"This is beyond incredible," he said.

"Well, I had help," she said. "Sometimes from friends back home, sometimes from aspiring artists I've come across like me. Actually, I owe a lot of this to Poppy."

"Poppy?"

"A magnificent painter. She was my old roommate and my best friend. But, now she's married!"

"It was just the two of you here?"

"Well, there was Jeanine." She looked at the end of the room where he guessed her bedroom used to be. "She was a dancer, but she was always so busy. We hardly saw her. I think she just needed a place to lodge, but hey she was nice and paid rent. Her priorities were just different."

Sounded like someone he knew. But, he couldn't call Benny nice exactly. "How do you afford a place like this?"

"What does it matter?" she asked matter-of-factly. He thought about it. It didn't really, but he was curious. He knew the answer—she was loaded—but his real question was,

"Why do you associate with us?"

She found this funny. "Simple. You guys are nice. Money doesn't make the man, Mark. I'd associate with you whether you lived in a penthouse or a dump. Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?"

"Tea?"

"Of course." She headed to the kitchen and scavenged through her cupboard and cabinets for the kettle. As she was bringing the water to boil, her eyes lit up. "Come here, I want to show you something." She ran into a hallway (there were two, one on each side of the room) and beckoned him over. He followed her into her bedroom where there were posters and more murals. A small, slightly wrinkled screen was set in the corner. She walked over to an old projector and he was already a step ahead of her.

"What are you doing with a camera?" he asked laughing. "In your bedroom…" He cocked an eyebrow and for the first he saw her blush a deep crimson.

"It was a birthday gift from Sammy," she said defending herself. "Or more like, here Snaps, I have no room for this, you take it. Of course, he gives me one that doesn't work. Or maybe I'm just not doing this right."

"Stop, you're going to break it," he said teasingly, "and you're embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing you? In front of who?!" she asked.

"In front of her," he said prying the camera away from her. He caressed it tenderly. "Did she hurt you? I know she did, but you're with me now."

"Oh, help me Vincent van Gogh." She rolled her eyes and a grin spread on her lips as broad as day. He felt her heavy gaze on him as he fiddled with the camera. He tried not to smile, tried not to let her know that he knew she was watching him. He laughed when he spotted the problem.

"Snaps," he said, pointing at the button and the light next to it, "You forgot to turn me on—_it_! You forgot to turn it – the camera – on." Oh, for crying out loud. You're an idiot, Mark Cohen, he thought. He fumbled with the camera, his nerves getting the best of him. "It's an old camera so you—the light, the button doesn't work as, um, well."

"Wow, how embarrassing," she said, laughing. Indeed. He did all he could not to hide himself under the covers in humiliation. "Snaps, girl, photography 101. Well, I've been seen doing dumber things." Oh, she was talking about herself. If he didn't get a hold of himself, he (or parts of his body who he couldn't claim responsibility for because sometimes they had mind of their own) was liable to do something extremely stupid.

"Oh, the water's boiling!" she hopped across her bed and dashed out of the room. He followed her into the kitchen and heard the loud high-pitched whistling coming from the stove. He pulled up a chair at the nook. She placed his cup of tea in front of him and took a seat across from him. "I can't believe you made that camera-in-my-bedroom comment," she said taking a mint leaf. "Makes me wonder what you do with _your_ camera."

"Nothing," he said stirring his drink. He smirked.

"Yeah, I'd like to see what other documentaries you've made."

He laughed. "What are you insinuating?" He pressed his lips together tight then said, "Do you need tips or something?"

She looked at him shocked. There was a glint in her eyes. "Naughty Mark. I like it."

"Just don't tell anyone or I'll never get my films into Sundance." There was a glass container labeled sugar on the far end. He lifted the top and spooned out a couple into his tea.

"Honey?"

"Yes?"

She had a crooked smile on as if she knew something he didn't. "I meant, would you like some honey for your tea?"

Damn fuck. He silently cursed Freud and his damn slips, and brought the cup to his lips, hoping the slight shaking in his hands was just carpal tunnel. "Mm, hot."

"Who?"

"You." He froze. Shit again. She leered at him, her eyes growing dark and mischievous. "I meant, me—tea, I meant hot, the tea."

He slid down his seat, his face searing. Why don't you just hang a sign around your neck, he asked himself. Suddenly, he felt her foot against his, her toes caressing the back of his ankle and up. She slipped a spoon in her mouth and bit the tip, grinning roguishly. He began to giggle. "Stop, that tickles!"

"Magic word?"

"Stop!" He could feel her climbing up his leg, the tingling sensation uncontrollable. "I mean it."

"What's the magic word, Marky?"

"Stop!" He tried not to kick her. "Maureen, I'm serious, stop it!" She stopped, that mysterious grin still plastered on her face. He took a swig of his drink and it burned as it slithered down his throat. He coughed and she got up to get him a glass of water.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" she asked.

He wasn't sure anymore. He did have a question for her though, something that had bothered him last night. "How did you know about Alex and Maureen?"

She gave him the glass and sat down. "I thought everyone knew about it. It was practically nothing, nobody thought twice about it. We just thought, oh, she's just another tally in his catalog." He looked at his glass, the ice cubes half-submerged. That was how he felt like. Half-submerged. "I don't think he meant to hurt you."

"Why are you defending him? I thought you hated his guts."

"Aw, come on, Mark," she said looking down. "I may have kicked him in the nuts, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him." Right, the band used to be so inseparable. They were her brothers. "I'm hungry. I'm going down to the grocer and pick up a few things. I'll make you a home-made Italian meal, how does that sound?"

It took him a moment to respond. "I'll help."

"No, stay here. Make yourself comfortable. I only need a few things, the ingredients to spaghetti alla puttanesca are cheap." She grabbed her purse and skipped to the door.

"Spaghetti alla…. What?"

"Whore's spaghetti." Only she would be so nonchalant about that name.

"Wait." He walked over to her. "When did it happen?" Alex was a bragger. He knew she would know details.

She opened the door and stepped out. There was an earnest look in her expression, earnest, pleading and desperate. She wasn't going to answer him. But, before she pulled the door close, he thought he heard a whisper. "Alex's blackout party."

The next thing he remembered was complete darkness, the shadows outlining people's bodies still blended with the coat of black filling his vision. There was upsurge of "woos" and a mixture of howling noises as a flashlight shone on the walls and highlighted various faces. Alex's voice was heard next. "There are flashlights on the counter. Anyone not completely wasted, help me light some candles."

Soon pockets of hazy lights hovered around the room. His eyes started to adjust to the dark and he could finally see faces and everyone scattered across the living room.

"Thank God for the moon," said April looking out the window.

"That's not the moon, that's the bat-signal," said Roger, wrapping an arm around her.

"Hey, how about some truth or dare?" suggested Chuck. After a lazy and partly drunken compliance to the game, they designated him to have the first go. He scanned the room and a grin formed when his eyes landed on Mark.

"Truth," he answered hoarsely. He thought that would be a safe option, but…

"Which of Claudine's breasts do you think is bigger, left or right?" A roar of laughter ensued. He would hope Claudine would be just as offended as he was mortified with the idea, but she looked absolutely delighted. He could feel Maureen scooting closer to him and he felt twice as horrified. Chuck continued to egg him on, telling him he could have thought of a lot worse, until Mark submitted defeat. Claudine traded places with Roger and waited.

To say Claudine's breasts were big was a lie. They were huge and practically bursting out ofher tight tank top. He was sure they would pop like a balloon at any moment. He wondered if she could breathe alright…

"You've stared long enough, Mark, pick one!" said Alex impatiently.

"Don't let the screwball over there distract you," Claudine said. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Her burgundy-colored hair rested on her shoulders and blanketed over her bosom. "You can touch," she whispered, her eyes crystal and emerald. He squinted and tried to resist. He could feel Maureen tugging at the end of his shirt.

"Watch it, sugar," said Maureen warningly.

He could feel the sweat at the back of his neck and he couldn't collect enough nerve to answer the question. Just then a ruler was shoved in front of him.

"This might help," said Chuck, grinning. Claudine rolled her eyes and snatched the ruler away.

"You killed it, ass-wipe," she said irritably. "Go ahead, Mark, choose someone."

Relieved that he didn't have to live through that, he chose Snaps. He knew she would choose truth and he already had a question for her. "What's your real name?"

She looked at him with ice-cold eyes and the others cheered in approval. She took a breath and folded her arms. She mumbled something indistinctly.

"Can't hear ya, Snaps!" everyone teased.

She raised her voice just a bit and looked at Mark. "Cock, okay? It's Cock. Anita."

"Anita Cock?" repeated Mark.

"Oh, I know you do," she said grinning devilishly. Everyone laughed. He felt like a loser. Anita Cock… _I need a cock_. Holy Mackerel. She was never going to tell her real name. Before the scene died, she chose April and they had their first dare. "I'll give you an easy one," she said crossing her legs. "Give Mark a lap dance." _What_?? What was this, pick on Mark day? April and Roger exchanged glances. She stood up and walked to the middle of the circle. She was wearing tight jeans torn at the knees and a black fitted shirt with silver writing he couldn't make out in the dark. Her hair was long, red at the end and black at the roots.

"Music?" she asked looking over at Alex. He nodded and went to dig through his cassettes. He struck the back of his cassette deck a couple times to make sure the battery still had some juice then placed it on the floor. Mark stared at his shoes even though he could barely see his laces. When the music started, another round of woos (extent of their vocabulary, limited, thought Mark indignantly) arose, she did a few turns and strode over to where he was sitting. She was thin, but her hips were curvy. And it was as if she read his mind because before he knew it, she unbuttoned her jeans and slipped out them.

He could hear the others howl as she danced and swayed in front of him. He buried his face in his hands but they would tease him even more if he peeked. He was only peeking to see if she was finished, but she got closer and closer. This was his best friend's _girlfriend_… but she was pretty, he couldn't deny that and he did everything he could not to let it show. She perched her leg on top of his shoulder and he could see the design of her panties so clearly. He covered his eyes.

"You're done, April," said Roger.

"Aww, I'm not done!" she whined playfully. He motioned for her to come over and she frowned and obeyed. He pulled her arm and she collapsed on him.

"I don't want no stripper girlfriend," he said to which she rolled her eyes and replied, "Yeah, right." She put her jeans back on and looked around the room. She chose Alex.

"Finally," he said throwing his hands up. "Dare."

"Hmm…" she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Let me light one of your leg hairs on fire."

He stared at her dumbfounded and slightly disappointed. But, she knew what she was doing. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction because truthfully, Alex would probably do anything. He sighed then grinned. "Okay." He rolled a pant leg up.

April squealed and took a candle from the kitchen counter. She knelt beside him and everyone watched intently. She held the candle near his skin, slowly and carefully. Alex didn't make a peep. Her movements were leisurely; she didn't want to make a false move. Her grin grew wider and then—

"AHH!" a high-pitched scream from Mr. Hotshot himself. Everyone laughed and Alex rolled down his pant leg and held the place where he was burned. "The things I do for you," he remarked as she walked proudly back to Roger. "My turn." His eyes immediately wandered to Maureen. Mark sat up, but tried not act interested.

"Maureen, truth or dare?"

It took a minute for her to answer. "Dare." Her eyes were glimmering among the candlelight. He figured she was the type to love a good adventure. Alex stood up and paced back and forth, pretending to think. Everyone already assumed what kind of dare he had in mind. He stopped pacing and signaled Maureen to come over. She pushed herself up and walked over to him. He leaned over and whispered in her ear; Mark noticed his hand snaking around her waist. He shifted in his seat.

She laughed a bit and shook her head; she seemed shy. That was different.

"What did he say, Maureen?" asked Collins. She just looked at the floor. Alex's eyes never left her; it was as if he was studying her carefully, maybe reading her mind. Everyone started getting antsy and soon they were nagging her to spill the beans.

"I'll give you a second alternative," he said, still looking at her. "Help me clean this dump after the party." She gave him an incredulous look as if there was no way in hell she was going to scrub vomit off his carpet. "Either that or what I said earlier," he said, his answer final. She agreed to help him clean up. Everyone booed.

Mark hadn't thought about what he whispered to her. He thought it was just one of Alex's dirty ideas. He couldn't believe how blind he was. The longer he burrowed through the memories, the more he realized the clues lay right in front of him the whole time: the sly exchange of glances, the way he placed his hands on her, the flirting and the teasing. He wanted to believe they were insignificant; his mind was just playing tricks on him. Alex was generally a flirty person as was Maureen, he reasoned. He didn't worry about it because she did come back the next day and stayed. He was a fool not to trust his instincts. How many other times have you lied to yourself, he asked himself disgustedly.


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N: greetings, reviewers and lurkers, here's another one. hope you like it. reviews are still awesome =) ~**__**ThexInvisiblexGirl**_

**Chapter Seven**

"Okay, from the top, one last time!"

Ryan's announcement induced groans and a few mock-yawns. Amber pretended to collapse beneath the weight of her guitar. It was Friday afternoon, and they had been rehearsing non-stop since lunchtime.

"Come on, you guys, just this once," Ryan coaxed them. "Then we're done for today."

Maureen watched him with admiration. People dared to blame _her_ for bossing people around. It made perfect sense to her that he was in-charge of things in Anthony's absence. He had so much charisma. Even when they complained, it was obvious his bandmates would always obey him.

She was having the time of her life at Purple Sky. The band was crazy talented and they all embraced her. Ryan helped her to put together a setlist from her own material, including a few cover songs she liked. Amber promised she'd go shopping with her before her performance. She didn't mind when the work was getting too tedious, when they had to stop every couple of minutes to tone down the speakers or resettle the projectors. She enjoyed every second. Most importantly, the moment she passed the club's double doors, nothing else existed but the music they were creating. It was the best distraction she could ask for.

Roger was checking on her daily, and she knew it was for his sake just as much as it had been for hers. He was lonely at the loft. Mark was out most days, and when he was home, they barely spoke to each other. Furthermore he hardly said two words to Mimi ever since their argument. Maureen wondered how long it was going to last. Not long was the optimistic answer. But she knew better than relying on optimism now.

When Ryan was finally satisfied with the song they had been working on, he dismissed her and called out a break for the rest of them. They still had to do a short warm up for their own performance that night. They wouldn't do a full rehearsal, since they were playing all day, Lee explained to her as he walked her to the door.

"Have a good one," she smiled at him, turning to go.

"Hey, Maureen, wait."

She turned at the urgency in his tone; urgency she knew all too well. She looked at him questionably. He ran a hand through his wavy hair in discomfort.

"I, uhh… was wondering… it's Friday. Maybe you want to… go out? After our performance?'

For a moment, she was speechless. While she might have expected as much from Pete or even Ryan, Lee's invitation caught her off-guard. He was the quietest in the group, always hunched over his music sheets when the rest of them were fooling around.

"I'm sorry, Lee, I can't," she said gently. He was sweet and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"There's someone else," he said before she managed to say anything further. It was a statement rather than a question.

"Yeah." Well, she and Mark weren't together technically, but she couldn't possibly go out with someone else when she still had feelings for Mark. And she cared too much about this relationship to lead Lee on. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"It doesn't have to be like _that_." He was actually blushing, which she found endearing. "We go dancing after gigs sometimes. Come with us. Bring him along too."

She smiled at the thought of dragging Mark onto any dance floor. "Maybe some other weekend."

When she pushed the door open, she couldn't help feeling proud of herself. In the past week or so she had two chances to slip back into her former lifestyle, but she didn't. She had turned them both down. A smile curled on her lips. She didn't care what Mark had said, what Roger had thought. She _had_ changed.

Her smile vanished when she noticed Alex leaning on the metal bars by the door. He sprang up the moment he saw her. Her eyes narrowed. She hadn't seen him since the bus station fiasco. Despite her reluctance to see him now, she couldn't help but wonder what he was doing there. But hell if she let him see she was curious.

She turned her back on him and left, not throwing as much as a glance in his direction.

"Maureen – "

"Don't," she cut him off, her curiosity all gone. She didn't turn to face him. "I don't want to hear it."

"Look, you can't avoid this forever," he said, still addressing her back. "We need to talk about this."

Oh, the irony. She didn't know whether she should laugh or cry when her own words, the words she had said to Mark only days ago, echoed back to her by Alex. She came to an abrupt halt; he nearly bumped into her. "Fine. Talk. But do it quick, I need to get home."

He cast a glance around. She followed him with her eyes. There were a few people around, but none of them looked in their direction. "Is it necessary to do this here?"

She shot him an incredulous look. "You don't expect me to invite you to my place, do you?"

He grinned, which infuriated her. Couldn't he see she was fuming? "You could just ask me for coffee. There's a coffee shop just around the corner."

She threw him a dark look. "Keep dreaming," she said, and resumed her walk.

"Where are you going?" She could hear the click-click-click the soles of his shoes made as they hit the pavement. The sound was hasty. She assumed it meant he was hurrying after her, but she didn't bother to turn around and check."Come on, Maureen, we said we were gonna talk."

"_You_ said you were gonna talk. I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, if you want Mark back, you'll have to talk to me, because right now, I'm the only one who can get you guys back together."

She fought the urge to stop. "I don't see _that_ happen, considering this breakup is partly _your_ fault."

"Roger definitely thinks you should talk to me. In fact, he's the one who advised me to come and look for you at the club."

Great, so now Roger was talking to Alex about her. Some friend he was. "Did he expect me to dance for joy because you came to talk to me? I don't think so, Alex. Just go. Stop following me home."

"I'm not following you home. It's getting dark; I'm just making sure you'll get home safely."

She snorted. "And since when did you become such a gentleman?"

"I'm just trying to be a good friend."

"You and I are _not_ friends, Alex. In case you didn't notice, your friendship is, like, the _last_ thing I need just now."

"Look, it happened. We can't undo it. You can be bitter about it for the rest of your life, or you can stop for a second, swallow your stupid pride and give me a chance to get us out of this shit."

She could see her building now, just across the street. She stopped at the sidewalk and turned. He didn't even look breathless, which irritated her. But there was something else on her mind, a query that didn't let her go for a few days now. "If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?"

"I'll try."

She pretended to detect the slightest quiver in his voice, as if he was afraid what she might ask. "That night, when we played Truth or Dare and you told me to dump Mark and go for you, did you really mean that?"

"Do you really think I would have made a move on you unless I thought you and Mark would never last?" His tone was unusually serious. She shrugged. He was, as so many people had bothered to remind her over the passing week, Alex. "I may be a jerk, Maureen, but I don't betray my friends. I think no one thought of you guys as a long-termed thing back then. Life is full of surprises, huh?"

His smile was different, melancholic almost, definitely not his usual naughty kind. Then she remembered what he said about getting her and Mark back together. That statement confused her. "Why are you doing this?" she wondered aloud.

As if he assumed she was aiming her question at him, he replied. "I care about him, too."

"I don't know how to work it out," she admitted, hating herself for letting him see her in a moment of weakness.

To her surprise, he didn't use it against her. He didn't mock her or anything, he just shook his head sadly. "I don't know either. But maybe we can come up with something together." Before she knew it, he was cupping her chin gently, making her face him. "We'll work it out, okay? One way or another. I promise."

She wanted to look away or push him off, and tell him he shouldn't make promises he wouldn't be able to keep, but she couldn't. She wanted too much to believe him. Having little hope was better than having no hope at all. She managed a tiny smile. "Is that a peace offering, Alex?"

"I guess you can see it that way," he replied, returning her smile. He released her chin slowly and looked over her shoulder. "This is your stop?"

For a moment, she forgot she was still standing across from her building. Her eyes followed his and she nodded. "Yeah, I'd better…"

"Hey, maybe you could meet me and Roger for lunch tomorrow," he suggested.

It was still strange to think of him as a friend. "Maybe."

He flashed a crooked smile at her and turned to go. "Maybe is good enough."

xoxox

Rehearsal was shorter on Sunday, and so Maureen and Amber went shopping as planned. She really wished things between her and Mimi had been better, and she could come too. Shopping with Mimi had become Maureen's favorite hobby. They wandered around markets and bazaars where they always came across amazing stuff: a tribal beaded necklace, a vintage dress for a dollar, a picture frame someone had bought at Tiffany's once. At the end of each trip, they chose a random café, and they'd sit there and talk for hours. They told each other about their families, about their friends from home, ex-lovers. They talked about Mark and Roger a lot. Maureen could tell right away Amber wouldn't be that kind of friend. It was a superficial friendship, to say the least. She couldn't confide in Amber, not in the same way she could confide in Mimi, tell her any trivial or stupid or whimsical thing on her mind. And still, she had fun today. She even got a few new dresses like she had planned.

The park was on the way to her place so she crossed through there, but something at the corner of her eye made her stop with a halt. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. A second later she found herself moving closer to the fence that surrounded the playground. It really was Alex there, pushing his son on a swing. She watched them with certain fascination, despite herself. Alex looked like a completely different person. His smile was different, his arrogance gone. His expression alone made it clear that this little boy was his everything. The change was overwhelming, and yet impossible to pin down.

As if he could somehow feel her gaze on him, Alex suddenly looked up and their eyes met. A slow smile curled on his lips. It was closer to the smile she knew, not the gentler one he had reserved for his son. She waved at him once, smiling back weakly. The moment she made up her mind to turn and head home, Alex beckoned her to join them. She froze, her arms clutching at the fence. Should she? Nothing good ever came out from hanging out with him, even if he insinuated he wanted nothing but her friendship now. She didn't want to be nasty to him in front of his kid if things got to that. Maybe she should just pretend she didn't see him.

But just then, Jacob saw her standing there as well, and smiled shyly at her. Alex whispered something in his son's ear, all the while not looking away from her. Jacob nodded with enthusiasm. He didn't motion her to come closer again, but his intention was clear in the way he kept his eyes on her. She sighed, defeated, and went along the fence until she found the small gate that led into the playground.

"You see, I told you she'd come," Alex told Jacob, winking at her when she stopped in front of them.

"Just to say hi. I can't stay long," she said dryly.

"Where are you headed to?"

"Home. It's been a long day."

"Your show is tomorrow, isn't it?"

She was surprised he knew that even though she shouldn't have; Roger had probably told him. "Are you coming?" she found herself ask, and mentally kicked herself once the words were out.

Once again, Alex's smile got close to that seductive grin she'd known all too well. "Would you like me to?"

Ugh, why was he always doing this to her? Why had she always grown speechless with him around? It was beyond ironic. She all but invented this tactic he was using – she was practically falling into her own trap.

When she didn't reply, he laughed softly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." This time, the words sounded sincere. But there was something strange about the way he looked at her; she looked away, and then down, when she realized she had the perfect distraction from the intensity of his stare.

"Hey, kiddo, how you're doing?" she asked Jacob, who was eyeing her curiously while she was talking to his father. Now that she directly addressed him, he smiled timidly and looked up at Alex, searching for approval it seemed. Alex nodded reassuringly, and Jacob turned his eyes to her again.

"'Kay," he whispered.

"I bet I can push you higher on that swing than your dad can," she said casually, casting a side glance at Alex. He rolled his eyes. She held back a smirk and turned to Jacob again. "What d'you say, you wanna try?"

This time, Jacob's nod was confident. She brushed past Alex when she took her place behind the swing, and started pushing, carefully at first, but with growing confidence as the swing gained height.

"Aww, isn't that sweet," Alex commented after a few minutes, but she didn't mind him. She did it initially to get back at him, which was childish, really, but now she was starting to enjoy it. Jacob squealed whenever the swing soared, stretching his legs for more momentum, all the while pleading with her to push him higher.

"Okay, I hate to be a party pooper, but we're gonna be late for dinner if we don't leave now."

"Nooooo leaving, Dad!" Jacob protested when she gradually slowed down her movements. "Keep pushing, 'Reen, I want to go higher!"

Alex did a double take at Jacob's choice of nickname, but quickly recovered himself. "Yeeeees, leaving, or Roger will end up eating our cheeseburgers."

This was enough to make Jacob jump off the swing. She held her breath for a second, but to her surprise, he came out unharmed. She heard a soft laughter next to her, and found Alex giving her an amused look. "They're made out of steel at this age. Nothing gets through them." Then his eyes turned more serious, with that darker shade she came to fear of. "Hey, why don't you join us?"

"I'd better not," she replied hesitantly.

"I bet I can change your mind. How do you feel about strawberry milkshakes?"

"I love it," she said with a small smile she couldn't possibly hide.

He pretended not to hear her reply when he knelt next to his son and helped him retie his shoelace. "Do you want Maureen to join us for dinner?"

Jacob looked up at her, his eyes huge and glimmering. "You coming too, 'Reen?"

She couldn't explain that emotion that shot through her just then. It was completely new to her, like sunshine through her gloom. Before she knew how it happened, she felt her lips curl up with a smile.

"See? It's a date!" Alex announced, caught himself, and sniggered. "Well, you know what I mean."

Jacob walked past Alex and clasped Maureen's hand with his. There was so much confidence in the movement; she wondered where was the boy who shied away from her a week ago at her birthday party. She guessed he was more like his dad than she had realized.

Roger was surprised to see her when they met him outside the diner shortly afterwards. She had never been there before, but Alex told her that Jacob and him were regulars there. Jacob released her hand and launched himself at Roger, who picked him up and easily swung him over his shoulder. "Hey, big guy! Mo, what are you doing here?" he asked, his smile as sneaky as Alex's. She shot him a glare.

"Jacob invited her," said Alex.

Whether Roger bought it or not, for once, she was grateful to Alex. Luckily she didn't have a chance to dwell on it or to reply any of Roger's inquiring glances. From the moment they gave their orders to the waitress, Jacob claimed all her attention. He insisted she sit next to him, and she thought she saw a hint of reluctance in Alex's eyes when he had to take a seat next to Roger. From the corner of her eye, she saw Roger stare at Jacob in amazement. For the past few months, Roger had been teaching him to play the guitar. Jacob always considered Roger his idol and now… he shifted his interest insanely fast.

To her surprise, she was having a great time. She showed Jacob how to make boats out of the napkins on the table, and by the time their food arrived, they had a whole navy of them. When he wasn't nudging at her arm and demanding her to himself, she laughed and joked with Alex and Roger as if they had all been best friends their whole lives. She didn't even stop to think it was a little twisted, sitting there with her boyfriend's best friend and the guy who had messed up her relationship. It sounded like the cruelest joke.

"I'd better get him home," said Alex when Jacob's head drooped against her arm. Only this way, she noticed the startling resemblance between them. A hazy recollection flashed through her mind: dawn slowly breaking, warm sheets, and how she had secretly studied his face as he slept on. Fast asleep, Jacob looked exactly like his dad. She blushed and brought her eyes down, focusing on a tiny oil spot on the linoleum, when Alex's next words hit her. "Roger, you'll walk Maureen home, right?"

"Sure," Roger said slowly, moving his eyes from her to Alex as if he was certain he was missing something.

Alex stood up and scooped Jacob in his arms. They walked out together, and Alex hailed a cab for him and Jacob. Roger and Maureen stayed on the sidewalk as the cab drove on. It was clear to her Roger was waiting for an explanation by the way he was staring at her, into her. "What?" she asked as they started walking.

"What the hell was that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jacob literally hanging on your neck? Alex making sure you'll get home safely? I thought you said nothing was going on. Since when are you two such close friends?"

"We're not. I bumped into them in the park. Jacob asked me to join them."

Roger rolled his eyes at that, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah. Right, okay."

"I don't know why you're making a big deal out of this, Roger," she said innocently, now when something occurred to her. "I thought this was what you wanted. Isn't that why you sent Alex to stalk me on Friday?"

She knew she won when she saw him purse his lips.

"I guess it's a bit too late to say it now, but mind your business, Roger, and keep away from mine."

"Meaning something _is_ going on?"

"Meaning you should really take care of your own mess before picking on mine!"

"Okay, I got it, no need to get so defensive," he said. There was laughter in his voice. She knew he interpreted defensiveness as admittance. She didn't bother to correct him. Let him have his fun. He'd figure out his mistake sooner or later.

xoxox

She thought of Mark often. Luckily she was too absorbed with her upcoming performance to dwell on the fact she hadn't heard from him for nearly a week now. A fight or no fight, it wasn't like him. But then again, he never did what she had expected from him recently. So the week passed without him calling.

She told herself not to raise her hopes up about him coming to her show when Monday came. He had promised he would, but that was before Collins left and hell broke loose. Things were different now. She didn't want to stress over it; she couldn't. There was enough on her mind as it was.

The first night when she didn't see him in the audience, her heart skipped a beat, but she struggled to keep herself together. She remembered too well what happened the last time she had let it get to her. She didn't want things to go there again. Not when Anthony trusted her so much that he had granted her this second chance. She swallowed her disappointment, grabbed the mic, and put her heart and soul into her performance.

The second night when he wasn't there, she told herself there was nothing to worry about. Something was keeping him away, something trivial and so meaningless, it would seem silly afterwards. He couldn't find his best shirt, or he just ran out of film for his camera. He would be here by the end of the evening. He wasn't one to break promises, no matter how bad things were between them. The audience was a perfect distraction. They loved her the other night, and the second night was even better. Their response surprised her, especially considering how low she had felt. That seemed to be the secret.

The third night Maureen went onstage, she wasn't expecting much. She didn't want to talk herself into fantasies and illusions. If Mark wanted to be there, he would have. She threw herself into the performance as enthusiastically as any other night. Roger and Alex were in the front, hooting and wooing like two teenagers in a rock concert. She felt like rolling her eyes. Dorks.

And then, from the corner of her eye… a small smile crept on her lips. There he was! She was singing on autopilot now, her attention all focused on him. Relief surged through her; she didn't even realize she was worried until she felt it. She didn't care that he was too far back to really see her. He was there. He came. That was all she needed to know.

"Oh my God, _amazing_ sound tonight, everyone!" Ryan breathed once they hopped offstage. He walked over to her and gave Maureen a big brotherly hug. "Excellent work. Tonight especially. I hope to see you back on this stage. Anthony is an idiot if he doesn't bring you back."

"Thanks, Ryan, for everything," she said distractedly. She needed to find Mark. She didn't want to risk him sneaking out before she had a chance to say something, thank him for coming, at the very least.

They all demanded her attention, and she tried to shove them off without looking like a snob. They were the ones who brought her here, after all; she couldn't be so rude to them. There were so many people there; one would think it wasn't just Wednesday. She returned Pete and Lee's hugs and promised to come and see their own show during the weekend. She chatted with Amber for a few minutes and they set up another shopping trip.

She could see him now, being pushed forward by a tiny girl she remembered as Snaps, the former bassist of the Well Hungarians. For a moment she was confused. She didn't know Roger was still in touch with any of his bandmates, except for Alex. Why would Mark be in touch with her? She hadn't seen Snaps for years. But then she reminded herself it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. Just get to Mark. She made her way through the crowd, and at some point she could tell he noticed her, trying to make her way to him. He looked distressed and tried to walk back, but Snaps didn't let him. He was cornered between the two of them. The moment Maureen caught up with him, Snaps winked at her from over Mark's shoulder, and disappeared.

"Mark. Hey," she said, struggling to keep her tone casual. She hoped he wouldn't notice the tremor in her voice.

"Hey," was his quiet reply. There was an uncomfortable silence, in which they eyed each other carefully. Then he cleared his throat. "Nice set," he said, nodding towards the empty stage. "The audience, they loved you."

Maureen noticed how he excluded himself from the audience. It hurt more than she thought it would. "Thanks." There was another long pause, which she felt committed to break. "I didn't think you'd come," she admitted quietly.

He looked down. "Me neither. I, uhh, needed a little bit of convincing. But I did take some pictures."

Only then she noticed the camera he was holding. "Not of me, I hope, I'm a mess," she smiled, hoping to lighten the atmosphere a bit.

"No, you're not," he contradicted her, and for a slight second his lips curled in a tiny grin. His eyes were still on the floor. "I have to be honest. This… this is awkward."

That was quite the understatement. She didn't reply, and she hoped her silence would bring his eyes up. A moment later, she got her wish. "How have you been, Mark?"

"How do you think?"

She looked away as if he slapped her, and in a way he did. "Maybe you shouldn't have come then."

"Would you have felt better if I said I was doing fine?"

"Maybe. Maybe I should start telling myself that."

"You mean continue lying to yourself just so you can feel better?" he replied tersely. He sounded so mad, so bitter. It was worse than she thought. But then he shook his head, as if he realized what he had just said. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, I'm just… it's hard."

"Do you…" She paused, hesitating, but then thought she'd better just ask. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He raised his head and looked at her, _really_ looked at her, for the first time since they started talking. "I do and I don't. I don't want to fight. I don't want to argue. I don't want to have to think about it. I don't want to deal with it." He stopped to catch his breath, and his eyes softened as they met hers. "But I do miss you."

"I miss you, too," she whispered. "How about I buy you a drink? We could…" she let her voice trail off with silent invitation. She said the words without thinking, really, and now it sounded like a really bad idea. But they did need to talk about it. She couldn't stand another week of this.

"No, thanks. I try not to drink when I'm upset. You remember what happened last time."

Too well. He got so drunk he showed up at her place, and the next morning neither of them could figure out why he was in her bed. She nodded. "How about stepping outside? Just for a few minutes," she added quickly when he still looked reluctant.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. "I just don't – "

From somewhere among the crowd, someone hollered. Both their heads snapped up, just in time to see Snaps slap Roger. Roger looked enraged. She had never seen his face so red before. For a moment nothing happened. Then, a second later, Snaps did one stride forward and pushed him, not hard, but enough to make her point. She said something they couldn't hear in this distance, and pushed him again. And whatever she said, it was definitely working. He looked well pissed off now. Maureen wouldn't be surprised if he decided to launch himself at her.

Maureen didn't stop to think, not even to see what Mark was going to do. She pushed through the howling crowd. From the other side of the circle that had been formed around Roger and Snaps, she could see Alex, his expression a mixture of surprise and worry. He was closer to Roger, and he put a restraining arm on Roger's shoulders. Roger tried to shove him off, but Alex was stronger. Snaps' eyes were flaring, silently challenging Roger to try and come at her again. He could do nothing but scream as Alex held him back.

Alex said something to Roger Maureen couldn't hear. She saw Roger shake his head, his eyes colder than she had ever seen them. Alex's expression was sealed as he slowly let his friend go. But whatever Roger had just promised, he clearly wasn't meaning to keep, because he turned his back on Alex and his eyes focused on Snaps again. Mark tried to stand in his way but to no avail. Roger managed to push Snaps back before Alex or Mark got a hold on him again. Maureen watched in horror as Snaps collided with a passing waitress. The latter dropped the tray she was carrying and brought drinks and snacks crashing to the floor in a clatter. She and Snaps followed suit.

There were too many people around. Maureen lost sight of Mark and Roger, and even Alex. She could still see Snaps, sitting up on the floor, rubbing her head as if she was hit. Her arm was bleeding. Someone helped her up; she shoved his hand away.

"Fuck, Snaps, are you okay?" she asked, kneeling next to the smaller girl.

Snaps looked at her dumbfounded. "Holy Monet, it's _you_!"

Maureen came behind her and gently helped Snaps into a sitting position. "Can you move?"

"Of course I can move, he didn't touch me," Snaps snorted. She winced as she tried to straighten up. "Ouch," she said, flashing a crooked smile at Maureen, who laughed softly.

"I thought so. Come on," she said.

As she supported Snaps towards the high stools by the bar, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder. She still couldn't see Mark anywhere. She couldn't help but wonder what he was going to say earlier. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter now. She sighed and tightened her grip around Snaps' waist. She just hoped he was okay.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Hard-headed, this one," said Alex, nodding to Roger, who was lurching over a garbage can. Passersby didn't even bother to glance over. They just followed the booming music and lure of alcohol into the club. There was no moon tonight so the sky cast less shadows than normal. The unusually warm breeze was lazy and somewhat discomforting. Mark licked his lips and cringed—it tasted of salt. His feet felt light and weightless, almost as if he was floating. He took a deep breath and felt the after sting from his headache. What a night.

His roommate was still bent over the trash can, regurgitating everything left inside him, which probably wasn't much. He figured Roger had been feeling pretty empty this past week.

"He was drinking," he stated to no one in particular. He felt like he had to say it. He knew Roger like the back of his hand.

"Did Mimi tell you anything?" asked Alex suddenly. Mark could never figure out how the guy who read playboy magazines and cereal boxes could be so omniscient.

"Are you a ninja, part time?" he asked curiously. There was no way he was going to call truce just because of this. There was something seething and hot creeping at the back of his neck, and a little bit of hatred poured out of his windowless, blue eyes.

Alex turned away. He probably wanted to answer his question, but sustained. "Roger had invited Mimi to see Maureen's performance tonight. She turned him down. But, you knew that, right Mark?"

The nerve of this guy. "What's it to you?" he shot back. Aside from keeping his mouth shut, Alex didn't know when to mind his own business.

In all honestly, Mimi never told him. Of course, he didn't really mention Maureen's performance until earlier that afternoon. He wasn't even planning on going at all until Snaps threatened him with a blender and two very sharp toothpicks. There was no convincing her that he just didn't feel right making amends just yet. Her response: "You can throw your relationship away for all I care, but one thing's for sure—you're never going to stop being her friend. So, go and support her, you numskull." She had an interesting way with words and an intimidating way of threatening people with household appliances. He figured it had to do with her Italian-mob instinct.

"Come on, buddy, let's get you home," said Alex, patting Roger's back. "The cats are going to have to eat out of that later." He grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up. He brought Roger's arm over his shoulder and leaned his friend's weight against his own. Roger nodded and they began to walk. Mark watched as they grew smaller in the distance, setting adrift on the dark.

"Mark!" Familiar and sweet. The only voice that sounded reassuring this whole night was hers. "You disappeared. I was – I mean, are you…?" She paused to catch her breath. "Did Alex get Roger home?"

"They just turned the corner," he said finally looking at her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with a pale rose-color. "Are you okay? I mean is Snaps… she in there?"

"Yeah, she's still in there. It got really crowded so I thought I'd look for you guys outside," she said looking back at the doors. Even all that commotion didn't drive the customers away. In fact, it might have excited them because more and more continued to file in. She turned back to him and tilted her head. Studying his face closely, she took a step forward. "Shit, Mark, you're bleeding." Her palm was warm and smooth against his cheek, her fingers soft as they brushed over his lip. Nostalgia and everything he ever loved about her rushed back in two seconds.

He slipped his hand around her wrist and slowly pulled it away. "It's just a cut. It's nothing." His face felt empty without her touch. He was so bitter before. It must be the adrenaline, he decided. He glanced back to where Roger and Alex had walked off, any sort of reason to break his gaze with Maureen. "What did you think that was about?"

"I don't know, but if Roger screws up my chances for any more gigs here, I swear I'll…" her voice trailed off. That was strange. He figured she'd blow up, but she controlled herself. What was it about this night?

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked earnestly.

He hadn't been able to answer that question truthfully yet. The longer he ignored the problem, the harder it was to push it away. He hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms. "No. Not really… not until we work it out anyway." There, he said it. All that work trying to keep it inside and finding distractions meant nothing.

She laughed softly, almost as if she felt just as awkward about the situation as he did. "I'm not sure I know where to start."

"I'm sorry," he blurted. He wasn't exactly sure what he was sorry about; he couldn't pin any of his faults in this mess. But, it felt necessary. "I'm sorry for being stubborn, I guess."

"I'm sorry for not telling you." This time it sounded like she meant it; this time in lieu of the selfishness in her tone, he could hear sincerity and exhaustion of fighting. She reached for his hand and he let her fingers intertwine with his. "I just… I never thought I'd have to face that night again."

"I'm worried that… that you'll still have feelings for him and I can't… compete." He practically had to drag those words out of his mouth.

"_That's_ what it's all about? Mark…" – her laughter was a bit stronger this time – "I've never had feelings for him. I never will. How can you even...?" She shook her head as if the very thought was incredulous. He didn't find anything inane about it.

"It's not just that. It's losing you to him, it's you lying to me; it's not being able to trust you; fearing that we're going to be in this perpetual cycle of break-ups because you _have_ been with a lot of people, Maureen, and who knows who else will pop up." He wasn't angry anymore. He was more desperate, worried.

Her expression turned serious. "You know we can never escape the past, right? There'll always be another Alex or another Joanne or someone else. But that's what it is, the past, and if we let it bother us every time it resurfaces then we'll never last!" He felt her squeeze his hand, her eyes locked with his. "There's no competition. I promise."

She promised. Where had he heard that before? He let go of her hand and stared at her closely. For a minute, he just wanted to throw his hands up and give in. "You invited him to the show?"

She rolled her eyes a bit and rubbed her temples. "Please don't tell me you're jealous. He's just trying to make amends, I guess." Yes because that was very Alex-like.

"Don't tell me not to be jealous, Maureen," he said in disbelief. If there were other Alexes out there, he would always feel inferior.

"He feels guilty too, you know."

"Alex had never betrayed anyone before, not like this."

"I don't think that's true. Or did you forget how he disappeared when April killed herself?"

He looked down. That was a huge coincidence, he knew that. He was sure Alex didn't run away because April committed suicide. He had a son to prove it. But still, all those years and he chose now to return. "He never came back," he thought aloud. "He didn't even attend the funeral. Roger forgave him, though. He came back and set it straight with him. You… both… everyone… No one was going to tell me. I don't want that to be a habit. I don't want anyone to think they have to keep something from me so they can spare my feelings."

"I don't think Alex ever told Roger the truth about the night April died and still he forgave him." Mark took a step back. It was strange that she knew just as much about Roger and Alex as he did. "Can't you try to do the same? If it makes you feel better, I'll tell you everything. Mark… please?"

"I don't want to know," he said shaking his head. He wasn't going to revisit that memory again. "Snaps sort of pointed me in the right direction. I don't want to talk about it." He was caught in between peace and confusion. He placed a hand on the side of her cheek and looked at her intently. "Are you sure there is absolutely nothing going on?"

She held his gaze. "There's absolutely nothing going on." Hearing it from her, it felt honest, her eyes set unyielding, unabashed and real. He nodded.

"Okay. Let me walk you home?"

She smiled. "Sure." He laid his hand on her back, letting her take the first step. That awkwardness was slowly ebbing and he felt his carriage grow with aplomb, every stride relaxed and reassuring. He focused on the glow from the streetlamps for comfort as they resembled guiding lights inside the Holland Tunnel.

"So, umm…" said Maureen casually. "This Snaps girl. You two seem rather friendly."

"Yeah, she's helped me a lot." He froze. He completely forgot. "Wait, is she back there? We need to go back and – "

"Hey, hey it's okay," she took his arm, "I took care of it."

"You sure?" He was kind of worried; he was never really the type to just leave a friend behind. He didn't want Snaps to feel he just left and forgot about her. "She's in safe hands?"

"Yes. I asked Lee to take her home. He came with a car. He said it was cool, she even gave me her phone number so I can check up on her when I get home. See?" She flashed him the back of her hand with Snaps' number on it. He nodded and they continued to walk. "So, she helped you a lot, huh?" Her tone almost seemed _too_ uninterested. He decided to have just a little fun with her.

"Yeah, I wouldn't know what to do without her." He smirked, but kept his eyes ahead. "She's a good friend."

"Oh." There was a strange pause and he knew she was trying to make sense of his vagueness, but eventually she gave up. "So how are things with you and Roger these days?"

He shrugged. "It's like living with an apathetic teenager. That's why I try to find every reason to be out of the house."

"I wish he wasn't so stubborn."

"Or high-tempered," he said automatically. "Or Unreasonable."

"Well, if you need to crash some place for the night, my door is always open." She stopped and retracted her statement. "I'm sorry. I don't… is that too fast?"

Before, it was he who would stumble all over his words. But, he felt calm and it was almost as if he expected her to say something like that. He knew her better now. "Thanks Maureen. I can manage." He tried to think of another question in order to evade some sort of objection on her side. "You, um, have any tips for dealing with Roger?"

"He's like a storm. Just wait it out. I'll try to talk to him, if you think that will help."

He raised his brow. He couldn't believe they had gotten so chummy so fast. "Will it help?"

"It might." Their footsteps halted. They were in front of her building. She looked up at her fire escape as if she was expecting someone to draw the blinds to her window. "Do you want to come up?"

"No, it's okay. I'll talk to you later." He took her hand and kissed it softly. As he leaned over, he caught a hint of disappointment in her eyes. He pulled her arm around him and drew her close. There was a slight hesitation, a wishful, hopeful one, but it melted as he kissed her gently on the side of the lips. It felt more like a memory than it did anything else. Remembering the feeling wasn't quite the same as the experience. He slowly let go of her and for some reason it felt like he was letting go more than sought.

"Hopefully, we can find out what was going on between those two," he said.

"I'll leave it to you, detective." She ruffled his hair and smiled. "Good night."

xoxoxo

The next couple of days Mark found himself mapping out his next documentary: _Bohemia, the struggle and the art_. It was a working title, but he liked the concept and he already had a few personalities lined up. It was a nice change of pace and the inspiration to work again was partly due to clearing the air with Maureen. Still, he had an inkling their relationship wouldn't be quite the same again. He used to picture them on their wedding day, but now he couldn't even see farther than next week.

He had been checking up on Mimi every night before she went to work. He would walk down the creaky stairs in his pajamas, feeling the walls directing him through the dark and would wonder how Roger could stand doing this. Mimi would be in her costume when she answered the door. The smile on her face strained more and more every time. But, he would always find a way to get her hopes back up. He dreaded the day he would run out of ways.

"The least you can do is look like you want to be here," said Snaps. They were sitting in Life café, waiting. "I do have better things to do than help you and your petty problems."

It wasn't impatience or anger in her voice because everything that came out of her mouth always seemed so playful. But, something was bothering her. "What do you have to do?" he asked.

"Wedding stuff," she answered. Most brides would be in complete hysteria, PMS-central 24-hours a day, ready to slice your head with a hatchet they kept in their purse for such occasions. They were the panic-stricken women at the gym trying to sweat the weight off so they could fit in their gowns. Not that Snaps needed to lose any weight, she had a great figure—or so he's been told. It wasn't as if he was looking. Anyway, she acted as if she was planning a day at the beach let alone a wedding.

"You didn't have to do this if you had other plans, Snaps, especially if it involves your wedding," he said. It was funny, he was saying this to a girl who've always had her priorities straight. Maybe he shouldn't doubt her.

She smiled and scratched the back of her ear then absent-mindedly toyed with her earring. "He's supposed to come down here and help me."

"Where is he?"

"Connecticut. He's finishing up some grad school stuff, unimportant, boring," she said, waving her hand as if swiping the thought away. For some reason, he was getting the feeling that it was important to her but she didn't want to share it.

"What does he do?" he pressed on. He couldn't help being a little curious. Aside from Benny, she was the first to be tied down and so soon. They would have never figured her to be the homemaker type.

"He's a…" a smile snuck its way on her lips. "He's a photographer." She looked up at him, grinning. "A sports photographer for the New York Times."

It was difficult to restrain his laughter. It wasn't necessarily his occupation that was funny, but who he worked for. He remembered Roger's band mates would always point out to Mark openings in the paper for photographers. "You could do freelance," he remembered Ashley saying. And every time, Mark would respond "I'm better than that." The only time he was ever so confident was with his art form.

"There he is," whispered Snaps, eyeing the man who just walked in. Mark looked up and almost choked on his drink. The guy was wearing a long, beige overcoat even though the sun was blazing outside. A deerstalker was pulled over his eyes. He was hunched over, his head bowed.

"We're right here, why doesn't he see us?" he asked. Snaps whistled and his overcoat swung in their direction. He rushed over, hands in his pocket, and sat next to her. He slowly looked up and met Mark's gaze.

"Alex, why the Picasso are you dressed as Sherlock Holmes?" she hissed. She was embarrassed for him.

"I can't show my face in here, you of all people should know that," he hissed back. He turned to Mark. "I'm—"

He put a hand up. "Save it. I don't want to hear your apology."

"Then why am I here?"

"This looks expensive, who did you mug?" She examined his sleeves by stroking the material and tugging at the pockets. "Where's your pipe, Holmes?"

"My syringe," he corrected. He lifted his hat so he could see Mark better. "Truce?"

Mark looked at him and gave him his approval. Alex took this opportunity to let it all out. He didn't really have a brain filter so what came out of his mouth was exactly what he was thinking. Mark knew Alex's sensitivity didn't apply to him or Roger – he reserved that for the women he dated. "Look, this doesn't come to a surprise to you." He lowered his voice. "Hell, I've fucked Benny and Roger's ex-girlfriends and they laughed about it afterward. I know, I realize—"

"I'm not Benny or Roger," he finished for him.

"Right. And that's why I kept it from you. I—"

"You don't read!" Snaps pinched Alex's arm and he yelled out. She glared at him as if she was expecting some sort of explanation. "Where the Falk did you learn Sherlock was a cocaine addict?"

He rubbed the part where it was sore and turned to her haughtily, chin up and eyes looking down at her. "Elementary, my dear Watson… which was never actually uttered by Holmes himself until actors William Gillette coined the phrase and Clive Brook popularized it."

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. "Oh, beam me up, Scotty, wherever you are."

"Mark, I could care less if you never associate with me again. That's your choice. I know I made the mistake by not telling you, but you can't deny I had good intentions. It wasn't an easy choice to make." Mark knew all about hard choices and he couldn't say he that every decision he's made has been right. Sometimes, people act on instinct or panic, like when Maureen's equipment broke down… like when he had to choose between her and Roger.

"I'm not mad at you," he said finally.

"What?" said Alex a bit perplexed. "You're not upset?"

"No, I'm upset." He sighed and picked up a napkin. He began to tear the edges off because he couldn't look at Alex just yet—especially in that outfit. "I just don't blame you, I guess." This was awkward. A part of him wanted to have that friend he could always count on back in his life, but he just didn't feel comfortable around him anymore.

"Snaps, will you excuse us?" asked Alex sweetly.

"Sure," she said sipping her coffee. She waited, felt his eyes on her and looked up.

"Leave," he instructed.

"What?! _I_ have to leave? This was my idea, bringing you over here."

"And I'll thank you for it later," he said and Mark saw his hands disappear under the table where Snaps' legs were. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear. "Ow!" Ah, there it was. He was waiting for her to kick him.

"What happened to 'power to the people' and all that?" he asked rubbing his shins.

"I've temporarily deserted the hippies to kick your ass," she said plainly.

"Can you spank it, too? I feel really naughty."

She kicked him again and he cried out in pain. She sniggered. "Old queef."

"What?"

"I meant O'Keeffe."

He threw Mark an irritated look. Mark tried to stifle a laugh with little success. Those two were a riot when they were together and they always knew how to break the ice. Alex unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off. He pulled his deerstalker off and placed it on Snaps' head like she was some sort of hat rack.

"You can probably guess why I left in the first place," he said folding his hands. He was like an eight-year-old confessing to his third grade teacher that it was he who let the hamsters out. "He was an unexpected blessing. I had to take care of things and be responsible. I didn't find out about April until later and, um… it was one of those not-so-easy choices."

"He's your son," said Mark. He had always wanted an explanation for why he left, maybe a public apology, and something more, chores for a week or whatever. But, he had never thought to put himself in Alex's shoes. He could never before so he didn't think to do so when he left or when he came back.

"Yeah, but that's not what it's about," he said. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you guys when April died. I'm sorry I've betrayed you so much, Mark."

He knew that was genuine. He had seen this guy lie to drug dealers when Roger couldn't pay a debt and furthermore paid off what his friend owed a day or two later just to get The Man off his back. He had taken the fall for Benny more times he could count (there were about 134 slaps in the face from women that actually belonged to the Benny). There was even once when, at a party, he and Roger took two guys who were hitting on Snaps out in the hallway and… well, he wasn't there to witness that part.

"When did you find out about April?" Mark asked.

"A week after the fact. I saw Chuck at the, um, emergency room. He got into some barroom brawl and he got in my face and just sort of blurted it out." He looked down. Mark wished someone else had told him. He remembered April liking him a lot. She often mentioned him as her brother from another mother. "I loved April. I could never forgive myself for missing her funeral. I kept thinking maybe if her big brother was there for her, she wouldn't have killed herself."

"We can't blame ourselves," said Mark quietly.

"I know." Alex was one of the few who looked you straight in the eye every single time. He didn't hide his thoughts by looking away; he didn't try to conceal what he was feeling by gluing his eyes to the ground. He was guilty of making a mistake, as they all were guilty of making every now and again. Mark could trust him; he knew that.

A few minutes later they snuck out the best they could, Alex still afraid of being recognized. For the longest time, a picture of him was posted under "Meatless Balls" after that incident of Snaps kicking him in the private parts. On the surface they seem like they hated each other. But, he kept trying with her and she continued to tolerate him. Underneath, Mark knew it was all an act. They all began to walk to Mark's loft. Jacob was at his guitar lesson with Roger and Snaps said it was on her way to the bus stop. The two of them couldn't stop bickering and Mark enjoyed the show from behind.

"Man, that scar is sick," said Alex, wiping a strand of her hair from her forehead. She slapped his hand away. "You must have gotten that from the fall the other night."

"No shit, Sherlock," she said sarcastically.

He looked affronted. "Fuck you, Watson." Sometimes it felt as if Snaps was not just a girl he was trying to trap, almost as if she was in another category on her own, which permitted him to insult her in a way he never would with any other chick. It also allowed him to be humiliated by her time after time even though he wouldn't give any other girl who embarrassed him a chance. Mark believed it was the mystery of trying to attain the unattainable.

"You know I can fix that for you," he said indicating her scar.

"What are you, a doctor now?" she asked.

"A mechanic," he answered proudly. "And if you want I can change that oil on your face and take you out for a test drive."

She laughed. "That was not romantic. And I think you insulted my face."

"I meant oil…paintings." There was a slight pause. Mark grinned, waiting for it. "Your father must have been a mechanic."

"Why else would I have such a finely tuned body?" she replied, smirking.

His expression remained serious. "Let me do my job, woman."

"I would if you were any good at it." She enjoyed it just as much as Alex did. She had asked everyone once why, if Alex wanted her so badly, he didn't dig out his best material for her. She couldn't understand it because she had seen him so much more romantic with other women. She said that he was probably pulling her leg. Unbeknownst, Roger accidentally let it slip that Alex was intimidated by her and that was why he fumbled every time. And since then she always took that to her advantage.

Several bad car puns and euphemisms later, they arrived at Mark's apartment buildings. They waved goodbye to Snaps and headed up the long stairs in an uncomfortable silence. Mark didn't think they'd ever reach the top of the stairs. When they entered the loft, the smell of grilled-cheese sandwiches greeted them.

"Roger's _cooking_?" exclaimed Alex. "I don't know whether to call the fire department or Ripley's Believe It or Not." Jacob ran to his dad's arms, chatting lively, already telling him about his day. Roger threw Mark a few side glances before turning off the stove and grabbing a plate from the cabinet above him. Alex carried his son over the table while Roger served.

"Careful, wait a few minutes because it's still hot," Alex warned his son. "Mark, come over here." Was he crazy? Before Mark could comprehend why he would asked such a thing (because it was clear Alex was definitely crazy), he walked to the kitchen and took a seat next to Jacob.

This was weird. No one said a thing and all that was heard was the clanking and rustling of plates and cups. Roger shook his head as he closed the refrigerator door. He sensed that something was up so he set the glass of milk loudly in front of Jacob's plate. "Hey, not in front my kid." Alex looked at him sternly and Roger turned away. "Jacob, share with Roger, huh?"

His little boy nodded his head vigorously. He ripped the sandwich apart and stretched his arm out, his tiny fingers gripping one half of his grilled cheese. "Here, Uncle Roger. Careful, it's still hot, you have to wait a few minutes," he mimicked his dad. Mark watched as his roommate reluctantly submitted to the four-year-old's request and sat down across from his, taking the sandwich.

"Now isn't this pleasant?" said Alex, smiling. He was clearly amused by how much authority he had. "Jacob, why don't you tell your uncles what you were telling me last night?"

"Why you not talking to Uncle Mark anymore, Uncle Roger?" he asked with his mouth full. Mark's head turned to Alex. He should have figured he'd play dirty.

"You're using your kid as bait!" accused Roger.

"Your point?" asked Alex. "And I'd appreciate it if you lower your tone. Answer him." Mark looked at his roommate carefully. This time he couldn't escape it. It was almost brilliant, his plan, because the only way Roger was going to ever talk was if he was forced to. This was almost better than torture.

"I thought he had my back," he answered finally. He snapped his head as if he was puzzled at his own statement; it was as if someone else had uttered those words. Mark was familiar with that feeling—the feeling of bewilderment after the anger had died out. Any person can get so mad and so caught up with the excitement that he misplaces those feelings; he misattributes them and allocates them to other people. Like a person can get so mad at his girlfriend that anyone who challenges him next will take the heat.

"Just because we disagree doesn't mean I'm not on your side," said Mark.

Roger's eyes stayed on the table. He shook his head. "It's not just that." What else could it be? He wanted to just ask him, hassle him about it if he had to, but he didn't want to set a bad example for the kid. Alex nudged Jacob softly and the kid spoke up.

"Just say you're sorry already, you're acting like a bunch of four-year-olds," he said slapping his forehead. Alex smiled smugly and tousled his son's hair. Mark refrained from rolling his eyes. He must have used his son for everything—picking up girls, forcing friends to apologize to one another. And he wasn't even ashamed of it.

"I'm sorry," said Mark. He just wanted to get this over with.

"Yeah," Roger replied, but Alex cleared his throat and he added quietly, "Me too." He excused himself and vanished into his room. Mark looked at Alex as if to say, this didn't work at all. He wasn't sure how or why Alex had so much faith in this friendship, almost beyond optimism. Roger was still upset with him, about something, but he couldn't point his finger at it. He hoped for closure, but this mess had only changed his relationships to something inauthentic. It was resolution with a glass barrier in between. Everyone had their guard up; no one was willing to back down. Not even Mark had the heart to trust fate. What hurt him slightly more was that if he had lost strength, how could he possibly be there for Mimi?


	10. Chapter 9

_**A/N: the following chapter is a personal favorite of mine, so I hope you like it. Make sure to let us know if you do! Happy reading x ~ThexInvisiblexGirl**_

**Chapter Nine**

She should have known making up wouldn't change much between them. Even though Mark had forgiven her, things were still cold between them. Sure, he still called her every day, but there was something off about it. When she did see him, he was still sort of distant. When he kissed her, he looked as if he was forced to do so. Never once did he ask her to stay the night, nor did he stay at hers. More than she was upset, she was helpless. She had no idea how to fix this.

"You know, if you came to see him and not me, you're wasting your time," Roger said then. She blinked. She almost forgot he was there. His eyes were resentful, as if her thoughts were laid out at his reach. "He left about an hour ago."

"Do you know when he's coming back?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know, I don't care," he stated, calmly sipping his coffee. Then he made a face, and when he next looked at her, it was with appreciation. "This is good stuff, Maureen. Thank God you can afford it."

"Don't get used to it, I'm not gonna spoil you often," she muttered, tracing the carton cup with her finger. Earlier that day she had a meeting with Anthony at Purple Sky. On her way to the loft, she stopped at a coffee shop and got them some coffee, the better kind, the one they couldn't afford on a normal day. Today, however, she felt like celebrating. Anthony was so impressed with her performance the previous week that he wanted her back at his club the week afterwards.

"I hope this guy keeps you in his club," said Roger, taking the lid off his cup to sniff the coffee. "I could definitely get used to this," he added, carefully tossing the cup in the air.

"If he keeps me, it's not thanks to you," she commented, narrowing her eyes at him. He seemed puzzled; she gave him a reproaching look. "You still haven't told me what that was all about, that day with Snaps."

Roger pursed his lips. "No comment."

"She and Mark seemed pretty close that night."

But before she managed to complete her inquiry, he cut her off. "If this is about Mark again then I told you. I don't know, I don't care. As far as I know, he talked Alex into helping him make up with me because he didn't have the guts to come and speak to me himself. It hardly changes things. So if asking me about him is all you mean to do today – "

"Whoa, chill, Roger, I didn't say anything. God," she shook her head. "You're acting really immature about all this."

He glared at her accusingly. "I thought you were on my side."

"I _am_ on your side! But you and Mark are best friends – "

"_Were_ best friends."

"_Are_ best friends," she scowled at him, "and you can't throw it away because of what happened! You don't want to forgive Mimi, fine, no one is making you. But Mark has been there for you in the shittiest moments of your life; don't you think you owe him a sincere apology at the very least? Is it better to be shut in here all day by yourself?"

His eyes were hard and cold, but she didn't flinch when he glowered at her. "If you came here to preach, Maureen, I think you'd better go. I'm not in the mood."

"That's just it! You're _never_ in the mood! All you do is mope around and feel sorry for yourself! Be honest, now. Do you see anyone else except for me and Alex?" she pressed him. He lowered his head in silent admittance. She sighed. "I thought so," she said quietly.

"You know what might help."

His tone was half a question, half a statement. She was kind of taken aback he was initiating an idea to help himself. "What?"

"If you moved back in." She didn't even have a chance to respond when he continued, his voice earnest, his eyes urgent on hers. "It will bring some life into this place. It's been ages since someone laughed here. Please think about it, Maureen, you were supposed to move back in anyway."

"I… don't know," she replied, her mind racing. What was she supposed to say? It was a sealed fact she'd move in, but that was… before.

"Why not? Because of him?" he sort of spat the last word. She flinched beneath his resentful glare. "He wouldn't mind. It was his idea, remember?"

That was weeks ago, before Mimi and Alex and everything else that had happened. Did Mark still want her to move back in with them? She wasn't sure anymore. He had never brought it up again. "Don't you think we ought to tell him, at least?"

"If that's what worries you then fine, I'll talk to him," he said, but it didn't sound as if he really meant it. She'd talk to Mark herself, she decided. "Please, Maureen? Just say you'll think about it. Give me an answer over the weekend. No pressure."

She laughed nervously. No matter what he said; she could feel the pressure alright. "Fine. I'll think about it."

His relief was instant, but it felt so wrong. His eyes were glimmering with hope now, but it wasn't enough. Depression and misery still lingered beneath it, like a shadow. He shouldn't rely on small things like that. It shouldn't come to this. When she next spoke, she kept her tone gentle. "Honey, you can't do this to yourself just because a girl has turned you down. You need to go out, you need…" Then something dawned on her, and she wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. She knew what he needed – she knew _exactly_ what he needed. "Why don't you get the band back together?"

He gave her a look, but she didn't let it deter her. "I'm serious! It did the trick for me. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have those few performances at Purple Sky last week." She smiled sneakily when another thing occurred to her. "I bet I can even get you guys a gig there." It was like showing a kid a candy. Or so she hoped.

"I'm not getting the band together."

She wasn't really surprised, but she was quite pissed off he just negated the idea without even thinking it through. "Why the hell not?"

"Just forget about it, Maureen, this is a bad idea."

"I'm only trying to help," she said, looking at him beseechingly.

"You _are_ helping. You're here. That's all the help I can ask for."

A knock came at the door. She leaned back in her seat, too baffled to feel uplifted at the possibility it would be Mark. She wasn't used to not getting her way, and she really thought she'd get her way over this. Roger's reaction made no sense to her at all. He _lived_ for his music; why wouldn't he want to give it a chance? She wanted to say more. She wanted to yell at him he had to get a grip and stop being so passive or she'd get Collins. Hmm. That might actually work.

She was so absorbed in organizing her new tactic that she didn't notice the attack before it was too late.

"'Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!"

"Hi, kid, what are you doing here?" she giggled, trying to balance herself against Jacob's death grip. The guys' sofa was a mess, but she didn't think extra coffee stains would improve its look. She gave Roger an inquiring look from over Jacob's shoulder as she leaned forward to place her cup on the coffee table.

He shrugged. "We have a lesson. I thought I'd told you."

"I think you forgot," she laughed. "Well, I'll be going then."

"No, don't go, 'Reen, _please_ stay and play with us! Please, please, please!" He spoke about 100 words per second. He wasn't in the room for ten minutes, and already she was feeling dizzy. He climbed onto her lap and wrapped his small arms around her neck. "Now you have to stay," he stated, flashing a toothy grin at her.

Roger burst out laughing. The sound was strange to her ears, but she embraced it. "I'll go get my guitar. You can stay if you want, Mo, although I doubt it's a matter of choice now." He was still laughing when he disappeared in the hallway.

"Where's your daddy, Jacob?" she asked once Roger was out of her hearing range. Considering her recent experience, she knew how he'd react to a question like that, and she decided to spare herself the annoyance of having to clear things out again.

"Dad is working. He fixes bikes," Jacob informed her. There was such admiration in his voice, as if fixing bikes equated to being a lawyer or a doctor. As far as Jacob was concerned, it was right there at the top.

"Really? So how did you get here? Did you fly here?" she asked casually, keeping a straight face as she tickled his sides.

"No, 'Reen, don't, stop it!" Jacob yelped.

"His babysitter dropped him off," said Roger, who was back now carrying two guitars. His eyes glimmered mischievously; she wondered if he had overheard her.

At the sight of his guitar, Jacob's eyes lit up. Laughing, she released him and watched as he took the smaller guitar from Roger. She scooted to the corner of the sofa, tucked her feet beneath her and retrieved her coffee. A small grin curled on her lips as she watched the two of them.

"Okay, Jacob, listen. Today's lesson is very important," Roger said. His expression was strict and his tone somber, just like a teacher's. "Today we're going to learn how to play in front of an audience," he continued, nodding towards her. "And we'll have to do it well. Maureen is a singer, you know, so she'll be able to tell if we fake it."

Jacob's eyes were on her again. He looked awed. "You sing?"

"Yeah, I do," her grin widened.

"Maybe if you're good, she'll agree to sing with you."

Jacob almost dropped his guitar in his excitement. "Please, 'Reen? You can sing and me and Uncle Roger can play the guitar and Dad can bring his drums when he – "

For a moment, she panicked. She didn't know any kids' songs! How could she possibly let that sweet boy down?

Roger, who seemed to be sensing her distress, took advantage of Jacob's enthusiasm (he was bouncing around the room trying to persuade her to sing with him) and leaned closer to her. "You're good at improvising," he said. "Make something up."

Roger taught Jacob how to play _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_. Maureen found herself humming the lyrics as Roger demonstrated the song to Jacob. Every few notes he stopped to correct the position of Jacob's fingers on the guitar or to give him performance tips. She was so proud of Roger. He actually got over himself, dropped the bitterness and resentment, and invested himself in his job. He was taking it so seriously; it was admirable.

Once Jacob got the whole tune, Maureen and Roger sang along, and Roger also accompanied Jacob on his own guitar, all the while keeping their pace slow to match Jacob's. The dork that he was, Roger somehow managed to manipulate the last note so that they ended the song in a perfect harmony.

"Wow! Awesome! Again, 'Reen!" Jacob exclaimed, clapping and bouncing in his seat.

"I think it's time we show the kid how it's _really_ done, Mo, what d'you say?" Roger asked, winking, before he disappeared in the hallway again. She knew what he was planning when a minute later he got back with his fender and plugged it in.

The rock rendition of _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ was even better. About three lines in, both of them were completely into it. Roger even did those rock star movements that made Jacob holler with laughter. Ever the actress, Maureen used the guys' coffee table as her stage and the remote as a mic. She sang her throat out, riffing the hell out of every line. Honestly, she had never thought that a simple lullaby could sound so hardcore. Now she was seriously considering to talk Ryan into getting it on her setlist for the next –

"My, my, it's quite a party in here."

She froze mid-note at the sound of Alex's voice. He stood by the door and observed the scene in front of him, his full lips curling with a smile. His black shirt stretched across his broad, muscular chest, his jeans were a perfect fit, hanging low on his waist but not too low. Even for a jerk, he was good-looking. She hoped she wasn't staring.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" Jacob yelled, nearly knocking Alex over as he threw his arms around his knees.

She took advantage of Alex's distraction to hop off the table. If _she_ was guilty at staring, he was definitely looking her over as well. She was glad she had her best jeans on.

"What's going on here?" Alex asked, laughing, as he rumpled his son's hair. He scowled at Roger, but he was obviously kidding. "This is what I pay you for?"

"Well, you should know better than to give Roger your money," said Maureen, smiling sweetly.

"I'd pay _you_ for a longer performance," he suggested, winking.

She rolled her eyes. "Dream on."

"Ready to go, rock star?" Alex asked Jacob, who nodded. "Roger, thanks for everything, man," he added, throwing Jacob's bag over his shoulder.

"'Reen, you coming too, right?"

There was death silence in the room. Suddenly they were all looking at her. Jacob's eyes were pleading. She didn't even want to start pondering what she had found in Alex and Roger's eyes. She tried not to look at them as she replied. "Sure, I'll just grab my stuff."

Jacob grabbed her hand as soon as they were out of the door. He didn't stop chattering from the moment Alex had walked in, and now he was telling his dad about their little performance. Alex walked a few paces ahead of them, as if to make sure Jacob wouldn't slip down the stairs in his enthusiasm.

She lost track of the conversation once they passed Mimi's door. She squinted, trying to see if there was a light beneath the threshold, but it was impossible to tell. She hadn't seen her since the day Collins left. It sounded like she was doing better than Roger, from the little she had gathered from Mark. For a moment she thought she should stop and say hi, but quickly decided against it. What if Mimi had to work that night, and she was taking a nap or something?

She scolded herself the moment the excuse invaded her mind. Coward is what you are, she told herself. And she was. She just couldn't figure out which one was scarier: confronting Mimi, or confronting Roger if he ever found out.

She was still trying to decide which of the two was worse when two flights down, Alex's voice suddenly rose above his son's and erupted her daydream. "Mark! Hey!"

She halted, and gasped. He looked equally surprised to find her there. His eyes widened for a split second, betraying the indifferent apparel she came to know so well in the past week. But there was something else there, a shadow she didn't recognize, and then she realized what it was when she remembered whom she was with. Shit.

"'Reen, come _on_!" said Jacob as he tried to pull her down the stairs.

"Just a minute, sweetie," she said weakly, her eyes still on Mark. Her mind was working furiously. She couldn't decipher his expression. What he was thinking?

"Come on, Jacob, I'll race you downstairs."

At his father's suggestion, Jacob instantly let go of her hand. She smiled involuntarily. He had so much energy; it was unreal. She waited until she could no longer hear their shuffling feet and looked up at Mark. He just stood there, his hands in his pockets. His expression was the same as a few moments ago – a mixture of surprise, reluctance, betrayal…?

"Roger said you were out," she said softly. "I guess I missed you by a few minutes, I came straight from my meeting."

"Yeah, probably." His tone was flat, indifferent, like he couldn't care less whether she had missed him or not.

The silence on his end was not encouraging, to say the least, but she found herself talking again. Anything was better than silence. "Anthony is giving me a few gigs next week, too."

Not a hug, not a hint of a smile. "That's great."

Was he waiting for an explanation? Surely she had nothing to apologize for, didn't she? She came to see _him_, and he wasn't in. And the thing with Jacob, well, she would have told him if he bothered to say more than three words to her whenever they talked. She sighed inwardly. There was no point. "Well, I… I'd better go." She took a decided step forward and laid a kiss on his lips. "I'll talk to you later."

Only when she left the building, it dawned on her he didn't kiss her back.

Jacob ran to her as soon as he saw her go out. "Did he kiss you? Did he kiss you?" he demanded, all but dancing around her excitedly.

"What?" she asked, flustered. She shot Alex a murderous glare.

"He wanted to know why you stayed behind," he shrugged, not the least intimidated. "I explained Mark was your boyfriend."

She didn't know why she was surprised. It was Alex, after all. As far as she knew, he had already given that kid the sex talk. Why wait until he was 18, really?

"So did he kiss you?" Jacob asked again, and she nearly toppled forward. It was like being pulled by a tow truck.

"No, he didn't." She didn't realize how much it hurt until she had to admit it.

"My friend Taylor's brother has a girlfriend," he struggled a bit with the long word, "and they kiss all the time. It's _gross_!"

"It can be nice, if it's someone you love," Alex told him, throwing a glance at her. She wondered if he was thinking of how he had kissed her a few weeks back.

"You love Mark?" Jacob inquired.

"Yeah," she replied, smiling sadly. "I do."

The rest of their walk was quiet on her side. There was just too much on her mind to take an active part in the conversation. Luckily, Jacob didn't notice. Alex kept him well distracted as he told him about this bike he was fixing at work. His words passed right through her, almost a background noise. Her thoughts were gloomy again, wandering between Roger's refusal to reunite his band, his suggestion she'd move back in, and Mark's indifference. Her energy was all gone. She just wanted to be home again.

Soon, she got her wish. They crossed the street with her, and only when they stopped on the sidewalk, Jacob let go of her hand. "Dad," he said urgently, and went to whisper something in Alex's ear.

Alex nodded, and looked up at her. There was apology in his eyes. "Looks like we're gonna have to go up for a sec, if that's okay."

Although she had vowed never to have him in her apartment again, she guessed she could make an exception for Jacob.

Alex went to show Jacob where the bathroom was, and then joined her in the living room. "I'm sorry about the kissing thing," he said. He actually looked sheepish, which caught her a bit off-guard. "Being a dad sucks sometimes. He asks really tough questions."

He looked so frustrated, as if for the first time in his life, he was helpless. It made her smile. "It's fine. I don't mind it, coming from him."

He returned her smile, but only for a moment, before he observed her more closely. "Are you okay? You were kind of quiet on the way here."

She should have known it wouldn't escape him. "Yeah, I'm just… it's nothing."

"Talking helps," he said, smiling a bit, as if with encouragement.

Hmm. Maybe he _could_ help. Roger _would_ listen to Alex, if he didn't listen to her. "I was trying to talk Roger into getting your band together. I was thinking that the music would get his mind off the Mimi thing. But he won't listen. I can't stand to see him like that," she confessed, peering up at him. The worst thing he could do now was make fun of her.

But he didn't. He stared contemplatively at the opposite wall before he replied. "You know what, that's actually not a bad idea."

She frowned. "_He_ doesn't think so. He wouldn't listen."

"Well, he'll listen to _me_."

He sounded confident, but she didn't know anymore. She had seen Roger in bad shape once and it wasn't pretty. Now was a completely different case, but she still worried about him.

Alex took her hand; her heart skipped a beat. He locked his gaze with hers. "I'll fix this, okay?"

She couldn't bring herself to speak; she nodded briefly.

"Is there anything else?" he asked, gently squeezing her hand.

She'd tell him, she decided. She knew he was waiting to hear what happened anyway. "Mark – "

"Dad?"

Alex's grip loosened; her arm dropped to her side. "Are you ready to go?"

Instead of replying, Jacob walked towards her. She hoped he didn't get a chance to see them holding hands. Not that it meant anything, but Jacob's perspective was different than hers. He _would_ interpret it as something. She smiled when he hugged her knees. He looked upset. His eyes looked huge when he looked up at her pleadingly. "Can't we stay over? Please?"

She stared at him speechless. Alex was right. He _was_ asking tough questions. How was she supposed to respond to _that_?

"I think Maureen is kind of busy today, Jacob," said Alex. "Come on. Let's get you home."

"No, I wanna stay," he insisted. His lower lip began to tremble.

"How about this," she found herself say as she knelt next to him. She couldn't stand seeing him so sad. The way he pouted his lips made her heart twitch. "Go home like your dad says, and you can stay over some other night." She threw a glance at Alex, hoping it was the right thing to say. He mouthed 'thank you' from over Jacob's head.

"Okay," Jacob finally relented. He didn't object when Alex scooped him in his arms. His body was sort of limp; she figured he must be worn out.

"Hey, I was thinking of something," Alex said as she walked them to the door. "Didn't you used to have a bike?"

Although Jacob was tired now, his eyes lit up when he heard the question. "You have a bike?"

"Yeah," she said, replying to both. It was in a pretty bad shape, and she couldn't afford fixing it, so she hardly used it. It spent most of its time in the basement. "I don't think she's seen daylight since last Christmas." And even then, she was scared shitless to go on it, but the diva in her had wanted her grand entry for her performance at the lot.

"I could fix it for you, if you want."

"I won't be able to pay you."

"Pffftt, I don't need your money," he said, looking offended. "I'll have a look at it."

"It's really hopeless," she tried to protest. She didn't feel comfortable with him doing things for her. It didn't feel right. She didn't want anything from him.

"Leave that to me," he assured her, smiling confidently. Then he gave her that look again, and she was glad Jacob seemed to be dozing off against his shoulder. Please don't kiss me, she thought anyway. She wouldn't know what to do with herself if he did. She didn't have feelings for him, honestly, she didn't. But she was vulnerable. She couldn't trust herself not to do something stupid when that was the case.

To her relief, he just took her hand again (which was good because Jacob couldn't possibly notice it) and squeezed it again before he turned to go.

xoxox

Mark didn't call. She was trying to tell herself she wasn't staring at the phone, that she was extremely interested in the movie on-screen, but she couldn't even lie to herself. And now, hours later, she was starting to feel guilty – _guilty_, of all things! But why did she have to choose sides? Roger was like a brother to her. So what if he and Mark had issues? Was she supposed to stop hanging out with him? Ugh, boys. Sometimes she just couldn't figure them out. She wished they'd stop behaving like second-graders.

The loud shrill of the phone came out of nowhere. Her heart threatened to burst in her chest as she grabbed it. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.

"Maureen?"

Her heart sank, or exploded. Disappointment hit her like a punch. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm down and tell herself it didn't matter. "Alex. Hey."

"Are you okay? You sound kind of weird."

"I just… thought it was someone else." She didn't know why she was admitting this to him.

"Oh. Sorry." She knew he knew. It wasn't _that_ difficult to guess whom she hoped it would be. "I just thought you'd want to know I talked to Roger. We're getting the band together."

She sat up, her own problems gone. "_Really_?"

He laughed softly. "Yeah. Really. So you might want to make that call to your manager or whatever the hell he is for you."

She could hear the excitement in his tone. "Oh my God, how did you even – what did you – "

"I told you. He'd have to listen. I'm gonna call Chuck and Ashley tomorrow. Roger wasn't too thrilled about asking Snaps back in, too, but it just won't be the same without her."

"What do you know about Snaps and Mark?" she blurted the question without thinking.

He snorted. "Snaps and Mark? Where did you get that idea?"

"I don't know, they just… seem pretty close."

"Don't tell me you're jealous," he said incredulously. "She ain't got nothing on you, Maureen, you know that." She snorted. Snaps might be weird, and she might have turned Alex down in various opportunities, but she was by no means unattractive. Huge eyes, gorgeous smile, curvy hips, and those body paintings. Back in the day, she used to think those were sexy as hell. Well, if she was honest with herself, she still did. "You have nothing to worry about. They're just about as close as you and me."

But that made her twice as worried, because she suddenly realized they did become close, closer than she had ever thought she could get with Alex Meyers.

"Still there, Maureen?"

She closed her eyes. Over the phone, his voice sounded deeper, raspier, getting right through her. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"Anyway, I don't want to keep the line in case he does call," he said, his voice softening. "I just thought you'd want to know about Roger."

"Yeah, thanks for telling me."

"And I'll see what I can do about that bike."

"Sure. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She thought he was smiling. "Good night."

She was slightly more optimistic when she hung up. Alex would get the band together, and tomorrow she'd ask about getting them a gig at the club, and it would be just like old times. Maybe she could do a few songs with them. This was just what Roger needed. She'd move back in with them, and soon everything would be okay again. They didn't need Collins' help after all. She was glad things didn't get to that.

Only when she began to doze off on the sofa, she remembered Mark still hadn't called her.


	11. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter is M-rated—yes, sexual content ahead, proceed with caution =)**

**Chapter Ten**

Weird was the only way to describe it. And possibly strange. Definitely a little awkward and uncomfortable. Fine, there were a few ways to describe it, but no matter how he phrased it, Maureen was moving back in and Mark didn't know whether this would help their relationship or possibly destroy it. He had asked her to move back in weeks ago, but he figured that invitation became invalid as soon as hell broke loose. What troubled him the most was that Roger had asked her to move back in without even consulting him. And it wasn't the fact that he refused to communicate—Mark could put up with that. But, Roger invited her back even though he knew how it would make him feel. It was a blatant disregard for his feelings.

Maureen had told him about the news the other day. She was a bit shocked when he was caught off guard by it, but assured him it would be good for them. She was doing it as a favor to Roger; he needed her company and her support. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Maybe it was jealousy or maybe he was letting his imagination get away from him. Nonetheless, he couldn't help feeling this unnerving suspicion that they were teaming against him.

At least there was one person that was making progress and he couldn't be any more proud of her. With a little encouragement and endorsement from Collins, Mimi started thinking about school again. Mark was more than happy when she took on his suggestion. He knew she got her GED before they even met, but she couldn't go any further the sicker she got. Her plan was to invest her money on community college classes, but for some reason her week's earnings always found its way to the drug dealers. Now that she was clean again, her head was back in the game and she warmed up to the idea of taking a couple of courses at the local adult education center. It was a tremendous step for her and he figured she'd need a lot more support than just he and Collins.

"This is some kinky stuff," said Snaps grinning as she picked up a pair of handcuffs hanging from the doorknob.

"Come on, don't snoop. Put that back," he said shaking his head. Leave it to Snaps to find the odd quirks around an apartment. He knew she would be a perfect friend for Mimi, so full of life and energy. He was also kind of hoping she'd be a source of inspiration as well. "It's for her job."

"She's a cop?!"

He laughed. "No, she works at Cat Scratch." He paused. She had stopped in her footsteps and her eyes grew wide. Her jaw practically plunged to the ground and she had to shake her head a couple of times to make sure she heard correctly.

"Mimi the Feline? _That_ Mimi?"

"You know her?"

"Well, what I've seen of her… which is most of her," she said a bit dreamily. "Sandro Botticelli, Mark! You guys are friends with the Feline of the Cat Scratch Club. Holy 1508 to 1512, you—" She took a moment to catch her breath. She covered her face trying to mask her grin. It was as if she won the sweepstakes. "Okay, that's not fair. Roger doesn't deserve a stripper girlfriend."

He did all he could to retain his laughter. At first he thought it was just Alex yanking his chain when he told him Snaps used to join the rest of the guys at strip clubs after they had performed a gig. Now her wildest fantasies were coming true (or one of, he imagined she had more). "Just don't run into the bedroom while she's changing," he warned playfully, gesturing to Mimi's bedroom door.

"Because I haven't seen it all already," she said winking. "And it's Friday night, too, so the crowd we'll be extra good…" Oh no, he thought half-smiling. She was thinking of going. There was no way in hell he was going to be dragged to Cat Scratch so he hoped she was thinking of going by herself. He pretended to be distracted by the bulk of mail scattered all over Mimi's kitchen table. He merely scanned the random letters and numbers, not wanting to invade her privacy. Then his eyes wandered to a familiar signature. Trying to be discreet, he sifted through the letters with the tips of his fingers. That's different. She had been getting a lot of letters from Collins, especially in the span of a couple of weeks.

"Mark?" He looked up and Snaps was staring at him with her hands on her hips. "And you tell me not to snoop." He apologized silently and walked away even though his fingers burned from where he had touched the envelopes. He was dying to know what they were writing each other; he hoped it wasn't anything dire. Worst, he hoped it wasn't about what was happening at home. He would have received an angry phone call though if Collins had found out they still hadn't worked things out.

"Roger is getting the band back together," she said suddenly.

"What?" There was another piece of news his roommate forgot to tell him. "And are you going to be in it?"

She nodded. "Alex is getting the rest of the guys to help with Maureen's big move-in tomorrow. Chuck can get us a U-Haul truck…." Her voice trailed off.

"I would have thought Roger—"

"Yeah I didn't think he was going to ask me back either." She shrugged, making the shooting star on her shoulder rise. "But, they're not going to find anyone better in such short notice. I think Maureen's trying to get us a gig at the club."

"You don't sound too excited." He wondered if she was just doing this because the Well Hungarians needed a bassist and not because her heart was entirely into it. After all, he saw her initiate the fight, he saw _her_ slap Roger. Then again, he wondered what Roger had said to make her so angry. Whenever he tried to bring the subject up, she would tell him to forget it. It was something she didn't want to talk about. .

"It just hasn't sunk in yet," she replied offering a smile. He nodded then noticed the curl on her lips grow larger. He turned around and saw Mimi in full costume, a black latex dress with fishnet stockings. She was holding a zebra-print trench coat in her arms.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," she said. When she had answered the door, she was in nothing but a towel and she practically sprinted to her bedroom as soon as she saw Mark had a guest with him.

"Not a problem, Mimi," he said as he leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek. He reached an arm out to Snaps, who had her hands folded in anticipation. "Mimi, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Snaps."

"Hola Snaps, I've heard so much about you," she stuck an arm out and Snaps shook it vigorously. He was afraid she was going to break Mimi's arm off.

"Oh my Raphael, you are so much sexier in person," she said excitedly, "I am such a huge fan. I'm sorry." She let go suddenly, turning a bit flushed and crossed her arms. "I'm really not this weird, I swear."

Mark cocked an eyebrow and turned to Mimi. "Yes she is." He ignored a death glare from Snaps. "But, I think you'll like her a lot."

"I like her already," Mimi giggled touching the star painted over Snaps' right eye. It was a large purple star with five points and a black outline. Girls, thought Mark sighing, always going for pretty and shiny. It didn't take long for him to feel left out as Snaps continued to gush over The Feline performances. Mimi showed her a couple of moves in which Mark tried distract himself again (especially with those letters from Collins), but Mimi demanded an audience. To his surprise, Snaps was a fast learner and, although she couldn't stretch as far as the Feline herself (she had the humility of making fun of herself by using an umbrella as a walking cane), could easily be seen as one of Mimi's backups.

"I didn't know you had it in you," he remarked applauding. She took a bow while Mimi cheered. She did a couple of spins and sashayed over to him, pulling on the garter of her shorts. He rolled his eyes and took out a bill from pocket and slipped it in. Her skin felt hot on his fingertips.

She walked back to Mimi and gave her a high five. He sighed, knowing he created two monsters. "A five dollar bill?" she exclaimed holding it to the light. "Cheap!"

And even so, she pocketed the money. Damn it, he thought, I should have given her a dollar, I'm never going to see that much cash again for at least a week. Spend your last five dollar bill on amateur stripping, good job, Mark, he scolded himself. Snaps decided to go to the club after all to see Mimi perform. It was nice to see two people who almost had nothing in common feed off each other's energy and get along so well. When they asked Mark to come, he said he would have to pass this time.

"Just make sure you behave for your fiancé," he said giving Snaps a look.

"You're engaged?" asked Mimi. She looked down and Mark knew everything came rushing back to her, Roger proposing, the mess they were in. Snaps caught on and quickly changed subject.

"But tonight I'm not and we're going to have a blast." She wrapped an arm around Mimi—she seemed so tiny next to Snaps who was thinner and leggier, even though height-wise, she was only a few inches taller. "It's Friday night, right?"

Mimi managed a smile and already she was looking at Snaps for that inspiration, that extra kick to live. "Yeah, let's blow the roof off."

"That's my girl!" she said embracing her. She smiled at Mark. "_È tutto pepe! She's full of life." _

_He returned her smile and crossed his fingers. _

xoxoxo

The next morning he met Alex, Chuck and Maureen at her place to start the moving. Roger stayed behind with Snaps, which probably wasn't the brightest idea, but there was no other choice in the matter. Not all of them could fit in the U-Haul truck Chuck drove in so two were going to be left behind anyway. And he felt more uncomfortable leaving Maureen and Alex unattended. At this point he could care less if Roger and Snaps ripped each other's head off, they were just going to have to deal with it.

They had already begun to move stuff into the truck when he arrived. Most of it was in boxes and some furniture that saw better days than their own. Maureen didn't need her bed because she was moving into Collins' room, a choice both of them had halfheartedly agreed on. He didn't feel right sharing his room—his bed—with her yet. If and when Collins came back, they'd pull out the sofa bed and Mark didn't mind if he had to give his room away to make everyone else comfortable. As for Maureen's other furniture that she wasn't planning on bringing to the loft, she rented some storage space to accommodate for everything else.

"Okay, we're going to drop you guys off at the loft and unpack everything from the truck," said Alex climbing into the seat and closing the door. "It's going to be okay if we just leave everything on the sidewalk right?" He looked at Chuck, who nodded. "Then you lovebirds and Snaps and Roger can start moving everything up to the loft. Chuck and I will pick up Ashley and we'll move the bigger stuff from the apartment and move it to storage." He glanced at Maureen. "Keys?"

She rummaged through her purse and grabbed her keys. She reached an arm out, across Mark's chest, and handed it to Alex. Mark tried to ignore the fact that their hands may have touched even slightly and focused on the engine roaring as they drove off. Snaps was waiting outside the building when they pulled up; he kind of figured she wouldn't be able to stand being alone in the same apartment with Roger.

"Snaps!" The passenger door wasn't even open and Chuck had already hopped off the truck to give her a bear hug. Mark could hear her laughter ringing in the air as she was lifted and spun around. "You're still rockin' the art! You're still so fuckin' hot!" They continued to laugh and he could see Maureen hiding behind him, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, trying to look away. He took her hand and squeezed it a bit, offering her a bit of solace and reassurance. He wasn't sure why she felt so uncomfortable. Maybe she felt out of place.

"Alright, enough, let's unload this monster," said Alex sliding the back of the truck open. Maureen went to get Roger while they began filling the sidewalk with boxes and small pieces of furniture. The four men went ahead and carried the heaviest piece up to the loft, which was a medium-sized dresser. When the truck was empty, two of the Well Hungarians left to pick up the third and the rest of them were left to heave everything up four flights of stairs.

By the fourth time round, Mark could hardly feel any strength left in his legs. His knees wobbled walking across the room and he was sure the same could be said for everyone else because no one wanted to go back down there. A few boxes were left, but even Maureen said, "Fuck it, I'm too tired." So they decided to begin the unpacking and rearrange the furniture to make room for what she brought in.

Mark tried moving the coffee table with the crooked leg from the middle of the room and noticed the floor covered in dust. "Man, this place is a dump." He caught Snaps laughing silently and shaking her head.

"Oh, we'll clean this place up alright," said Maureen. Groans were heard across the room. "I bet you didn't even touch the floors since I moved out. I'd be surprised if you did."

"Well, you took the cleaning supplies so we were stuck," he joked.

"Maybe if you used Collins' money for something other than wine and beer, you'd have some money to buy your own cleaning supplies."

"Ha!" laughed Snaps. "Money on cleaning supplies? These guys would spend every penny they have on their worthless cameras and fenders."

"It's only worthless to _you_," replied Roger dryly. "_You'd_ spend all _your_ money on pointless body paint. Or rather, all of daddy's money?" He could never take a gag when he was upset. Mark looked over at Snaps who looked hurt. She turned a bit red but regained composure.

"For your information," she retorted, "and not that it's any of your business, I pay my own way. At least, I actually care about my parents unlike someone who sends their mom a postcard once in a blue moon." He could see the vein in Roger's forehead throbbing and for a moment he thought he was going to explode.

Maureen interjected in the nick of time. "I know what _I_ would do if I had lots of money. I'd go to Victoria's Secret and buy everything they have on the racks." The attempt was enough to give the two some time to breathe. She nudged Roger. "Come on, move! I don't pay you to just stand there!"

"You pay me?"

"In theory," she said smiling sweetly. "Move it!"

Deciding it would be best if Snaps and Roger were in separate rooms for a while, Maureen ordered the boys to go downstairs and grab the rest of boxes. Mark followed his roommate down the stairs in silence, his noisy footsteps echoing the halls. The summer heat greeted them once they stepped outside as well as the rest of the Well Hungarians.

"Iiiiiit's Roogggger!" exclaimed Ashley in a sort of sports announcer voice. He gave him a hug and finally a smile formed on Roger's face. "I'm so glad we're getting back together; the subway crowd is brutal."

"That's because the keyboard isn't a real instrument," said Chuck. He backed away to avoid a swing from his band mate. "Hey is this the last of it?" He pointed to the rest of the stuff on the pavement. Everyone grabbed a box, except for Alex who was holding a few cartons of pizza, and headed upstairs. Mark let the band walk in front of him, not wanting to disturb their reunion. When they got to the last flight of stairs, he noticed Maureen coming out of Mimi's apartment.

"Hey…" he said meeting her halfway. Mimi hadn't spoken about Maureen since the fight. "You girls speaking?"

"Yeah," she said sheepishly. "I just told her I'm moving back in and that I'm here if she ever needs anything." Mark bit his tongue. He hated himself for thinking it, but he kind of didn't want her stealing Mimi away from him. She already took Roger. This is ridiculous, thought Mark incredulously, this isn't a contest. "I've never felt comfortable about this non-speaking nonsense, anyway," she said sighing. There, he told himself, she just wanted her friend back. "Hey let me help you with that." She reached her arm out but he took a step away.

"It's alright, you go ahead upstairs," he said smiling.

She nodded and started in front of him. "Mark…? Well, actually never mind."

"What is it?"

She turned around and peered over the box in front of him. He just loved her large, brown eyes as they looked at him intently, searching. "This is okay with you, right?" She chuckled nervously. "I know it's kind of late to ask for reassurance, but I…"

"I wouldn't want it any other way." He'd figure out whether that was an outright lie or not later.

When they entered the loft, Ashley was still clinging onto Snaps as if he was squeezing the life out of her.

"Can she breathe?" asked Alex patting Ash on the shoulder. He let go, a grin still plastered on his puppy dog face.

"What are you, a Martian now?" Ash asked. Today her hair was slicked back and she drew alien features and colors on her arms. Different planets were painted on one side of her face while the other side was bare.

"No, but I'm definitely out of this world," she said giving him a seductive look. The band moaned about her cheesiness while she laughed it off. Even though the others found it corny, Mark thought it was cute.

"Is there any pizza left for us?" asked Maureen as she took the boxes from Mark's arms and set them aside.

"This isn't pizza, it's a bunch of playboy magazines," said Alex setting it on the kitchen table.

"Oh, go do something useful," she said rolling her eyes.

"Hey, who helped you move in?"

A chorus of "Me" echoed from Mark, Roger, Chuck and Snaps.

"Yeah, yeah, you guys are the best. Who's getting you the gig?" she asked and raised her hand.

"Who got the band back together?" asked Alex smugly. This battle was never going to end. Both were too stubborn to give in.

"How about we all eat?" asked Mark breaking it off. It was driving him crazy and he knew that if no one said anything, they would be at it forever. He opened the pizza carton. "Ashley, please tell me you didn't order anchovy and pineapple."

"Only on one," said Chuck, "and that's only because I had to stop him in time."

Everyone began to migrate to the kitchen to grab their own. Mark let Maureen go ahead of him and when she turned around, she passed Mark a coke from the pack Ash had brought up with a slice a pizza. She smiled and he whispered a thank you.

"Aww, isn't that sweet," said Ash over his shoulder.

"Gag me, not while I'm eating," said Alex moving to the living room space. "I think I'm gonna throw up a little."

"Won't make a difference with the way this dump looks," said Ashley taking a seat next to Alex.

"Thanks a lot, our humble abode welcomes you," said Mark. Everyone settled in the living room, some sitting on the sofa, the rest sitting on the rug. Snaps mentioned this was just like the old days and even though it looked that way, it hardly was. He noticed Roger being awfully quiet, sitting by himself on the recliner while everyone continued to tease each other. He knew what his friend was thinking—if this were the old days, April would be sitting on his lap.

"So what has everyone been up to?" asked Mark. "Do you guys still have your instruments?"

"You bet your ass we do," said Ashley. The enthusiasm in him was uncontainable. "Snaps, do you still play? Or are you too busy body painting now?"

She stuck her tongue out. "To tell you the truth, I haven't picked up my bass in a while. It's sort of been collecting dust in my closet. But, you never forget these things, it's like riding a bike."

"Speaking of bikes, you still work at the shop?" asked Chuck to Alex.

"Yeah, I do, but now mostly I tell people what to do." There were a few snickers and murmurs to that response, but Mark could to tell he was enjoying them. He didn't think it mattered what kind of attention he got as long as he got it.

"What about you, Ash?" asked Chuck.

"I do comic books, actually," he replied.

"You didn't tell me you drew!" exclaimed Snaps.

"He's good," said Roger suddenly. "I remember seeing a few of his stuff years ago and they were excellent."

"He speaks!" said Chuck throwing his hands in the air, which inadvertently had a soda can in it. Its contents came flying out and a chorus of "Ugh," "Watch it!" and "It burns!" resumed. He set his soda down and smiled meekly. "God, Roger, I didn't think you were ever going to say anything. To be honest, I thought the Well Hungarians were history."

"To be honest, I thought so too," said Roger. "But apparently other people thought we still had a chance." He threw Maureen a look. She shrugged in mock indifference.

"This was your idea?" asked Mark. He didn't even try to figure out why Roger was getting the band back together. At most, he assumed it was a way for him to cope with what was going on, a means of escape. The fact that he was reluctant with the idea was news to him.

"Yeah," Maureen said smiling shyly. "I figured shock therapy was what he needed."

"Hey, Mark, is it true that Maureen dumped you for another woman?" That question. Oh boy, if the world thought he was tired of this question, well, huh, they were wrong. It was one that would follow him to his grave, he was sure, just before he bled to death on that cold pavement (because he was sure he was going to get hit by a bus, with his luck), someone will cry for help and hover over his body, and in that last thread of light, that valiant someone will lean, but instead of resuscitating him, will ask that daunting question: Is it true Maureen dumped you for another woman?

Oh, what a cruel world we lived in. He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar to keep from blushing into a deep red. He was sure Alex had told everyone about this, but luckily he prepared an answer for this. "Actually, I just enjoy seeing two women kiss."

The silence was so that he could hear a pin drop. A naughty grin spread across Alex's face. He gave Snaps a look and nodded to Maureen. "We can work it out for you, Marky, right now."

Snaps gave him the finger for that response and Mark told her to play nicely. The conversation died a bit, with people still laughing at his unexpected reply. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best solution, thought Mark.

"Hey Alex, how's Jasper?" asked Ashley.

"Jacob," he corrected. "He's doing great; he's with his aunt and uncle."

"Man, I haven't seen him in ages, how old is the kid?" asked Chuck.

"He turned four a couple months ago."

"I heard he's attached to an Auntie 'Reen…" said Snaps grinning. She was looking at Maureen. Mark turned to her and saw her shrinking in her seat.

"Auntie 'Reen?" asked Mark curiously. He didn't realize how close these two were. As far as he knew, Maureen wasn't really keen with kids.

"The kid doesn't stop talking about her, it drives me insane," said Alex with a mouthful.

"It's amazing how he attached to her so quickly," agreed Roger. "The kid's got mad talent too, I've been giving him guitar lessons and he's got the skill."

Mark shifted in his seat. It was like there was a new life going on between his friends he knew nothing about, that he wasn't a part of at all. They were trying so hard to stay together – Maureen moving back in, getting the band back together – but the harder they tried, the further they drew apart.

"Sounds like I'd start saving for Julliard," said Ashley to Alex.

"Oh fuck, don't remind me," Alex said half-laughing. "My old man didn't save a penny for my brother and me. He expected us to join him in the army."

"Yeah," said Chuck, "my parents said, hell, if you want to go to college, have Uncle Sam pay for it. You ain't getting a dime from me. Thanks, mom, dad, now I ain't got a dime to spare. Life sucks, man."

"Hey, we don't live so badly," said Snaps.

"_Some_ of us don't live on an allowance, you know. Some of us can live an entire winter with no heat, an entire summer with no air conditioning and sometimes days with hardly any food at all." It was the most Roger had spoken the whole day. Everyone knew he was out of line, but for some reason no one spoke in her defense. Mark came to know that his band actually feared him a bit because he wasn't one to handle stress very well and he sort of blurted things out impulsively. Maureen put a restraining hand on Roger's arm and he also noticed Alex's hand on Snaps' leg. But he knew she wasn't going to grant him the last say.

"Maybe if you got off your lazy ass and found some work, you'd realize life doesn't have to be that way. And don't give me that 'I have AIDS crap', look at Collins." That hurt too. The temperature in the room rose and Chuck had a slightly panicked expression on his face.

"Hey, cool it, you guys" he said. "Usually, it's Alex and I yelling at each other. What the fuck's going on?"

"Nothing," muttered Roger. The rest of their lunch hour was spent talking in small groups, knowing that fuses were short and anything could set off an explosion. Again, his roommate was sitting away from everyone else, staring idly into his soda can. Something told him that he should just leave Roger be, but he couldn't stand seeing him like this. It was fine when he was out of the house because he didn't actually see him sulk, but now that he was right there, his heart slowly tore. He excused himself quietly and sat on the other side of the sofa near Roger.

"You okay?" he asked pushing his glasses from the tip of his nose.

His roommate shrugged, shaking the last bit of remnants in his soda can. "Why do you hang out with her?"

"The same reason you used to." He wanted to tell him this was insane. Snaps was his bassist, they used to be friends; what made him turn on her?

"Alright, back to work," Maureen called out. The afternoon was devoted to cleaning the house, sweeping the floors, which used to be a dark brown, they were sure, dusting tables and window sills, polishing every object they could find, rearranging furniture and a bit of unpacking. Mark knew the loft needed it. It would be nice to finally breathe clean(er) air and come home to a well-kept apartment.

Dusk fell, a mixture of burnt orange and a subtle violet gliding down the glass windows. Goodbyes and hugs were staged at the door; quiet filled the air as soon as their footsteps disappeared. Roger nearly stumbled into his bedroom, his eyelids drooping heavily. Mark kissed Maureen goodnight and they silently went into their separate bedrooms, his adjacent from Roger's and hers across the living room in the bigger room. It was early, but he was so tired. He collapsed on his bed. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Unfortunately, hours went by and he was wide awake. His body was practically limp, but he just couldn't focus on closing his eyes… pretending everything was okay. Was it that? Was it unresolved issues that were keeping him awake? He turned on his side and noticed the empty space beside him. That was it. Someone was missing.

Get it together, Mark, he thought and flipped to his other side. He brought the covers up over him and reached under his bed for Snaps' camera. He had offered to fix it for her the first day he visited her loft and it was almost completely forgotten. She probably thought he stole it for good, he thought laughing to himself. He stuck an arm out from beneath the covers and felt for the lamp next to his bed. He turned it on and occupied himself with her camera. Maybe once he figured out what was wrong with it, he could sleep peacefully, knowing he had accomplished something worthwhile.

He swayed his legs to and fro, trying to find a comfortable spot. Something was wrong with this bed. His feet were practically dangling off the edge when he felt something snake around his waist. The camera flew out of his hands and he let out a yelp. What the fuck was that? He could feel himself falling and tried to grab hold of the sheets, but he went tumbling to the ground, covers entangling him cold-bloodedly, refusing to let go.

When he found an opening, he peeked through the hole. "Maureen?" She was sitting on his bed, trying to stifle a laugh. His heart couldn't help but melt a little when he saw she had the negligee he had bought for her birthday on. The color complimented her creamy skin, a soft icy pink, the satin blanketing her body fittingly, the lacey round cut accentuating her breasts. The hem hung right above her thighs, draped like a curtain, showing off her legs. He was staring, he knew that much, and he would have stared even longer if she hadn't reached out a hand to help him back onto the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said pulling himself up, "but I don't think the camera survived." He didn't even have the nerve to glance at the floor for what was left of Snaps' camera. He hoped he would be able to salvage it. Her legs moved closer to him, tracing lines and wrinkles on the bed sheets. "Um, what are you doing here?" He had a feeling, but…

"I couldn't sleep," she said, frowning. She blushed a bit. "I hope you don't mind…?"

Sleeping with me? Next to me? On top of me? Under me? With Maureen, it could be any one of the four. "Uh, I… suppose not—" and no matter how many times he has caught himself in the same exact situation, he always got nervous. "Do you want something to drink or something?" He began to fidget so kept his hands busy by fiddling with his glasses. She shook her head, her eyes locked onto his. "Are you…" Oh, boy. Slowly, he found himself falling deeper into her spell. Even now, she was hard to resist. "Um, you can't sleep? Is there something wrong?"

"No. Well… yes. Sort of." She lowered her head and stared at him beneath her long lashes. "It doesn't feel right when you're all the way on the other side of the apartment."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said without thinking. "But, we really should get to bed. I mean, your bed. I mean our own bed—each own… what?" His stomach did back flips. It was happening.

She laughed and brushed her hand along his cheek, her warm touch easing the tension. Her hand stopped close to his lips and she traced her thumb against his bottom lip. "It's just me."

That was what he was afraid of. She knew him so well and knew how to get his guard down. He tried to straighten up. He took her hand and pulled it down gently. "I think it's best we don't do this here."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I just feel… it's too soon. God, that negligee looks good on you." You fail, Mark Cohen, he would tell himself in the morning.

She lifted her hair up and looked down at her nightwear. "It does, doesn't it?" she asked, smiling innocently.

"It looks incredible on you. Oh boy…" He scratched the back of his head. "You have to give me some time, Maureen, you just moved in and I…" He knew she wasn't going to take him seriously. He kept faltering. "You know how I am with adjusting to change."

"I didn't mean to throw myself at you, that's why I agreed to take Collins' room. I understand you need time but…" she let out a nervous laughter. "I need you."

He breathed in. They must have said I love you at least a dozen times since they made up, but none of it meant half as much as her I need you. He found a bit of strength in him and caressed the side of her cheek. Her eyes closed with his touch. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips; he felt her smile in between. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

She hesitated then nodded and stepped out of bed. She gave him one or two pleading looks before he gestured her out and she diffidently admitted defeat. He followed her from behind as she made that march across the living room. If she could, she would stomp so loudly it would wake the apartment on the first floor, but her feet were bare. There was a pout on her lips as she opened the bedroom door and she looked up at him as if she was about to enter a cell block with monsters and ghouls lurking beneath the shadows. Her eyes begged him for one night away from the misery and the being alone, and even though Mark understood, he just couldn't fall into submission again. Things still felt unresolved and he wanted to make it right the right way.

"Here you go," he said peering into the crack in the door. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Okay," she said sighing. Finally, she was giving up. He noticed her attempt to smile but it fell crooked on her lips. She turned around and pushed her door open, the darkness and the lonely moon staring from her window welcoming her back in.

He grabbed her wrist and took a step closer so he could feel the warmth of her body and her steady breathing on his clothes. She looked at him expectantly. "Can I get a goodnight kiss?" he asked.

There was a bit of eye-rolling on her part, but then a full smile spread on her face and she stood on her toes. He slipped a hand around her neck and leaned over; their lips met and he felt her weaken just slightly, the tension subsided and her body slowly rested against his. He pulled away a bit, but her avidity refused to accede and her hand crawled to his chest. He felt his heart beat against her palm. Her eyes remained closed and he inched closer for another kiss, soft and gradual at first then a little more urgent. He could feel her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, her body pressed to his. She moved back, her hands tugging his shirt, and he pushed the door open with his free hand. They entered the room and Mark kicked the door close; they were engulfed by the night and he thought, alright, just once, I'll give in and no one will have to know.

She led him to the edge of the bed. He sat down and she stood in front of him, guiding his hands to the curves of her body. He could only see the soft outlines of her face in the moonlight. Every other part of her body he could only recognize by touch. There was a mischievous curl on her lips as she turned her back to him, her hands continued to guide his around her hips and up her waistline until he felt his hands around her breasts. She let out a satisfied hum and she lowered herself onto his lap, her back leaning against his chest.

He loved the soft scent of her hair—he remembered the same scent on his pillows every morning when he woke up. She tilted her head back onto his shoulder and she brought his arms around her. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, his hands roaming her body, running over her stomach and her chest. She turned her head to kiss him, fervent and eager, and his lips traveled along her neck, down to her shoulders. He felt her hands squeeze his, her hips swaying and pressing against the thin material of his pants. She let his hand glide underneath her negligee, her fingers still on his showing him the way. Her skin was soft, smooth and she arched back from his touch. She led his hand to the top of her panties and she pushed it beneath the silk, his fingers disappearing completely.

"Mark..." A gasp, husky and hasty, escaped her lips. Her movement grew quicker with his hand between her. He dug his fingers deeper inside her, her breathing became heavier and she bent forward. Once she let him take control, he heard her moan desperately. She held onto his knees for support, her hands gripping and twisting the fabric of his pants. Her legs closed tighter. He fed off her excitement. Her skin was so warm he could feel her body heat through his clothes.

The air grew hot and he felt her weight lifting from him, his hand slipping away and receding to his side. She was standing in front of him again and there was a tiny glint in her eyes. She took the hem of his tee and pulled the shirt over his head. She ran her hands down his bare chest, her soft lips following, tracing, where her fingers left off. She stopped at his pants, her teeth biting into the cloth, and he could feel her sliding them off. He held his breath and hoisted himself up a bit so she could pull them down to his ankles. She placed her hands on his knees and knelt in front of him, her eyes, dark and devious, fixed on his.

"Maureen," her named was whispered softly but ardently. He wanted to make sure this wasn't a dream. For the first time it was just the two of them and she wanted him, she _needed_ him, and no one else. He cupped her face with his hand and brought his lips to hers, but now the desire was insatiable. He felt her tongue against his, her arm wrapping around his neck. The light scratches of her fingernails tickled the back of his neck and sent a chill down his spine.

She broke it off suddenly. She pulled back; her hands somehow found their way back on his knees. She lowered herself in front of him, eyes still glinting in the moonlight, and slowly she spread his legs apart. Her fingers inched up his thigh and his breathing became steady, his heartbeat echoed louder. She licked her lips and grinned.

He inhaled instantly, a tingling sensation tearing through his body as she took the length of him, warm, wet, sucking lightly. The feeling rushed so fast, he couldn't help but react. He entangled his fingers in her hair, trying not to grasp it. He caressed her gently. He watched her head dip and pull back, her hand stroking along him. Her head bobbing forward and back became increasingly rapid; he groaned, just a soft and velvet whimper, and his hips slowly moved with her rhythm, mounting pleasure.

He pulled her up. Elation was peaking and he almost couldn't stand it. He scooted a bit and made room for her on the bed. She sat next to him, her eyes dropped as if she thought she had done something wrong. She wasn't aware that he stopped her because he wanted to do _her_ bidding. She needed him and he was going to give her everything and more.

He outlined the angle of her neck and shoulder with his fingers and slipped the straps off her nightie down. Reaching the lace of her collar line, he pinched a bit of satin and peeled the garment off her skin; his hands ran over her breasts and he leaned forward to leave a trail of kisses on them, his warm tongue tracing his tracks. She slowly reclined, letting him on top of her, and his hands found their way to her panties. He slipped them off her, as well as the nightie, and he came to re-explore her body with his mouth, her legs and her thighs and everything in between.

He was reminded of the way she moaned his name the further he thrust inside her, the way she climbed on top of him and took over, the way she always yelled more; and they all came flooding back, reacquainted with the memories and familiarity that he had missed so much. It was right, it was wrong, it was what he had feared and everything he had hoped for. It was love and its opposite, indifference; perfect and regrettable. Fate and chance: the former giving him hope and the latter offering an opportunity to escape.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

She opened her eyes slowly, and hardly remembered where she was. The room was bigger than she was used to, and barer; the bed was at the wrong side of the room, the window was bigger, the fire escape gone. Sunlight spilt into the room through the open window; she shut her eyes against it and groaned. A chill went through her, and it took her just a second to realize why. She was naked beneath the covers, which was odd but not unusual. For a moment, the previous night was a haze, but then the memory began to wear a more tangible shape. She smiled sleepily and turned on her side, raising her arm slightly to wrap it around Mark's waist.

Her arm dropped against the mattress. Her eyes flew open.

She was alone. How was it possible she was alone? Mark _had_ spent the night, hadn't he? She distinctly remembered that he walked her to her room; she remembered that goodnight kiss and everything that followed. Was she that desperate that she only imagined that he had been there?

It was kind of chilly still; must have been still early. She sat up and pulled the sheets around her. Where the hell did he go? And why? Right, he didn't seem so willing to spend the night with her at first, but by the time he had followed her here, she thought he'd changed his mind. It sure felt as if he had. Why would he sneak out before she woke up? Why wouldn't he want to stay there with her?

There was only one way to find out.

She threw back the covers and scanned the room. Her stuff was still in various stages of unpacking, but she managed to find some panties and a matching tanktop, and hastily put them on. He would _not_ just run off without explaining himself. When she left her room and crossed the living room, she was still half confused, half furious. By the time she reached Mark's door, fury took over altogether. She stood in the hallway for a second, trying to calm down. She could hear things clattering at the other side of the door, and so she knew that he was not only in there, but also busy. She threw a glance down the hall. Roger was still asleep.

She struggled to keep any traces of anger off her expression when she knocked on the door. She didn't wait for him to invite her in. "Mark?"

The room was a mess. His projector was out, occupying half the space in the room. There were tools and films scattered all over the floor. Mark was on the other side of the room, fiddling with an old-looking camera. There was a second camera on the desk in front of him. He looked over his shoulder when she poked her head in. "Watch your step," he said.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at his remark. He was acting so… casual. _Too_ casual. As if last night had never happened. And maybe it hadn't. Already it was beginning to seem like a faded fantasy. "What are you doing here?" she asked, carefully crossing the room.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "I'm just trying to fix a few things." He glanced at his watch on the desk next to the camera, and then at her. "It's still really early, you should be asleep."

She knew that distant look he'd just given her. He was so absorbed at his work; he hardly saw or heard anything else. She could have stormed in there naked and he wouldn't budge. But she wasn't mad anymore; now she felt kind of uncomfortable, like an unwanted intruder. "Is any of this so important you had to run off?"

She didn't realize she had asked it aloud until he put his camera on the desk, and turned to give her a closer look. "I just wanted to get an early start is all," he replied. She could see slight annoyance in his eyes now, as if her questions, her _presence_, were a disturbance. "What is your problem, Maureen?"

It wasn't even asked bluntly, more as if he really didn't understand what it was all about. And then she realized that this was exactly the case. "_What is my problem_?" she echoed incredulously. "Are you _serious_?"

"Calm down, the whole building is still asleep." He turned his back on her again and continued to rummage through his things again. He picked up a screwdriver and turned the camera on its side. "I don't know why you're getting all riled up," he said half to her, half to himself, his attention on the camera again.

She strode forward and grabbed his arm; the screwdriver fell to the desk with a clang. "Will you just leave it and look at me for a second?" she demanded, kind of offended now. He acted as if she didn't exist and it annoyed the hell out of her. He huffed a bit, and there was reluctance in his eyes when he finally looked at her. "I thought last night…" her voice trailed off, her hand slipped from around his arm. She didn't know how to continue.

His gaze was softer now, more intent. "What?"

He really didn't understand what she was on about. She could see it in his eyes. She honestly thought last night meant there was still hope, that they could work things out. She looked away now, defeated. "Nothing. I guess it didn't mean as much as I assumed it did."

"Maureen, you act as if this is the first time we've done it," he said, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Would it have killed you to stay?" she pressed, looking at him urgently.

He held her gaze. "I just…" He sighed, as if he didn't know how to reply. Then he retrieved his camera. His perfect escape, his sacred refuge, as always. "I have a lot of work ahead of me."

"What could possibly be more important than you and I?"

"Me staying or leaving doesn't define our relationship, it doesn't mean anything," he said, so casually she felt like slapping him. "Look, I woke up, I couldn't go back to sleep, so I got back to my room and, you know, started working on Snaps' camera. Then there's my documentary to work on…"

But the rest of it was lost on her. _Snaps_' camera. Of _course_. "I see," she said slowly, as this new information quickly, mercilessly, sank in. She was surprised at how calm she suddenly felt. Everything was clear now, so clear. And Alex was wrong. She knew it.

Mark eyed her wearily. "Now what?"

Enough with calm and caring. Her rage was back full force now. "So fixing _her_ camera is top priority now, isn't it?"

"Priority? This has nothing to do – what are you insinuating?" he demanded, looking outraged.

"You tell me, Mark. I'm sure you realize how it looks. Are you going to deny it now? Do you expect me to believe nothing is going on between the two of you? Because so far there's nothing to prove otherwise!"

For a moment, he seemed speechless. He stared at her wide-eyed with his mouth slightly agape. "I'm fixing her camera," he stated simply, his expression sealed. "If that somehow means 'I'm banging her', I clearly wasn't aware of that," he added dryly, and she pretended to see a flash of scorn in his eyes. "You know, if you expect me to trust you with all your ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, I hope you'd be able to trust _me_."

"What am I _supposed_ to think?" she spattered. "'She helped me a lot'. Just _how_ she helped you, I'd like to know!"

He shook his head. "You're so suspicious," he said, laughing a bit. When he looked up at her, his eyes were gleaming, as if amused. "Do you actually mean it, or are you just bitter because I left you this morning?"

She could kill him for acting so indifferent, for trying to make fun of the whole situation. "I'm bitter because I thought we were finally working things out, but clearly I was wrong!"

"Maureen, quiet down," he said, nodding towards the door. Oh, right. Roger was still asleep. Or had been. She doubted he could sleep through _that_. "Come on, let's not overreact. It's not like I left the building."

She huffed impatiently and sat on his bed. "Don't you see?" she whispered, looking up at him. He still had that amused expression, but now there was something else there, as if he was trying to figure her out. "You left. That's what matters."

He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he slowly placed the camera on his desk and came to sit beside her. "I'm sorry you're so hurt by this," he said, and the apology sounded sincere. "I didn't think I had an obligation to stay, I was just…" He let his voice trail off.

She kind of wanted him to keep talking. She couldn't understand his motives and she wanted to. She needed to know what was on his mind. Above all, she needed to know he didn't regret making love to her.

His sigh shook her out of her reverie. When he next spoke, his voice was gentler. "Why don't you go back to bed, and I'll join you in a little bit?"

"No," she shook her head. "It's not the same if you feel obliged to stay with me." Ugh, but even that sounded wrong. Now it sounded as if she was trying to make him feel guilty, which wasn't her intention. She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just… I kind of expected you'd want to stay," she admitted, looking away.

"It's not that I didn't want to," he said. "It's an adjustment. It's been a while since I've woken up with you next to me."

So he left… because he was scared? "Was it such a bad thing it made you run off?"

"No," he said, laughing softly. "I just wasn't used to it, and I needed to distract myself, I guess, to keep from thinking about it. It's happening really fast and I need time to pace myself."

It took a moment to process this. His words were honest, and his reasoning sort of made sense. She wasn't even sure how he ended up in her room last night to begin with; one thing sort of led to another. And if _that_ was fast for him, she figured that by throwing herself at him, by throwing accusations at him, she was actually making it worse. "Will it help if I stayed in Collins' room for a while?" She didn't want to, not really, but she'd do it if he needed the time to adjust.

"Maybe. I don't mean to hurt your feelings, I just need time. And then maybe I'll move in there with you," he said, offering her a little cute smile. "Are we okay?"

Slowly, carefully, she returned his smile. "I think so." But something was still missing. She eyed him thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I do something?"

He looked bemused, slightly scared even. "What?"

She smiled and knelt in front of him. His eyes remained locked on hers as she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned forward at the same moment she did, and she could tell he knew what she was up to when their lips touched for one brief moment. She kissed him again then, more fully, but pulled away the moment he began to kiss her back, gently sucking on his bottom lip. She kissed her way along his jaw and up his ear, where she let her lips graze his now heated skin. "Maybe this will teach you to think twice the next time you decide to ditch me in the morning," she whispered seductively.

She pulled back just enough so she could see his face. His expression was a strange mixture of awe and satisfaction, and a hint of helplessness and reluctance, as if he didn't want her to leave. Hmm, maybe we're getting someplace, she thought as she flashed one last sweet smile at him and turned to go.

On the way back to her room, she felt better already.

xoxox

Things had grown kind of awkward between them after that night. She dared not to surprise Mark in his room again because, well, she was trying to be good. She didn't want to press him, and she kind of hoped he would want her enough to make the first step himself. But he didn't even come near her room anymore. She had grown cranky with each day. The distance between their rooms felt longer than it was. She missed him. It felt wrong, almost pointless, to be in the same space as he was, yet remain so far away from him.

"You're sour-faced today," Roger commented as they crossed the street. It was Monday morning, and they were on their way to meet Anthony at the club. Maureen had told him about the Well Hungarians' reunion the other day, but before she had managed to say anything further, Anthony began to ask her dozens of questions. It turned out he had remembered them from a few years back. When he heard Roger was one of her best friends, he got all excited, and asked if she thought Roger would mind a gig, a sort of a comeback concert, at the club. It all turned out better than she expected really.

"I'm fine," she replied when she realized Roger was still eyeing her kind of strangely. She didn't feel like talking about it.

"Weird. I thought you'd be all glowing."

"And why is that?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug. "I don't know. Isn't that what makeup sex all about?"

She halted and gaped at him. "_What_?"

He laughed. "_Please_, I wasn't born yesterday. Separate rooms my ass, Maureen, I know Mark like the back of my hand, and I can tell when he gets laid."

Boy, he had some nerve. "If you even think I'll answer – "

"You don't have to," he cut her off haughtily. "I can tell. Mark is my best friend, like you've bothered to remind me over and over again in the past couple of weeks."

"Well, don't get too excited, it doesn't mean anything," she couldn't help but sound bitter. To his inquiring look, she replied, "I'm still sleeping in Collins' room."

Roger's smile was wide, as if he knew something she didn't. "Not for long."

Their meeting with Anthony went exceptionally well. Because they were more well-known, Anthony had given the Well Hungarians the Thursday night slot. Despite his initial resentment to the whole idea, Roger was difficult to restrain on the way home.

"I'm glad you and Alex kicked my butt into doing this," he admitted when they reached their building. He smiled sheepishly at her and wrapped an arm around her waist. "It will help me take my mind off things."

"Better than running off to Santa Fe," she teased, but a second later jumped up with a yelp when he squeezed her side. "_Roger Davis_, get back here!" she yelled after him when he began to race upstairs. The _bastard_!

She caught up with him about two flights up, where he was frozen in front of Mimi's door. She was about to ask what was wrong when the door suddenly opened and Mimi stepped out. Maureen stared at her for a second. It was hardly dusk, too early for work, and she wasn't even dressed up. She had an old backpack slung over one shoulder, and a pile of books under one arm.

She tensed when she saw them just stand there, but quickly recovered herself. "Hello," she said in her quiet, husky voice.

"Hey, Meems," she smiled, and nudged Roger's side.

"Hi," he mumbled, keeping his eyes down.

"I think I hear the phone" said Maureen, throwing Roger a look. "I'll go get it. Later, Mimi!"

She disappeared up the stairs before Roger managed to protest or hurry after her. She made a whole show of opening and closing the door, but stayed very quiet and tried to listen. She couldn't quite make out the conversation, but it was comforting to know that there _was_ a conversation, at least. Roger asked something, and Mimi replied. For a moment, Maureen pretended to hear Roger laugh softly, but she shook her head, dismissing it. She couldn't expect _that_ much.

xoxox

She meant to corner Roger before leaving for her soundcheck at the club and ask him all about their conversation. However, when she stepped out of her room, the rest of the band mates, who had dropped by a couple of hours earlier to work on their setlist, were just leaving. Alex rushed through the door the moment Roger dismissed them; she figured he was in a hurry to pick Jacob up. Chuck and Ashley lingered, each wanting to talk to Roger. She heard Chuck mentioning to Roger he had to leave town this upcoming weekend. From the corner of her eye, she saw Snaps slipping into the hallway, probably in search for Mark. She tossed her hair and headed to the kitchen. Maybe if she feigned obliviousness, it would hurt less. Behind her, Roger was playing Ashley a tune he had recently composed.

"Hey, do you guys have some ice?"

She turned, startled. She didn't realize Chuck was following her. Quickly composing herself, she nodded and motioned at the freezer. "We should."

"Where are you off to?" he asked, briefly running his eyes over her skirt and top before he found the ice and dropped it into a glass.

"Purple Sky. I'm performing tonight."

"Oh, right. It's at ten, isn't it? I might be able to make it."

"Sure. Roger and Mark are gonna be there, tell them to save you a spot."

"I don't know, Ash. You know I don't know shit about sound systems," she heard Roger say. "You'd be better off asking Mark. He's the real expert on the technical stuff. He's in his room, I think."

A moment later, they got Mark. Snaps followed behind him like a shadow. Maureen grunted inwardly but refrained from narrowing her eyes. She could tell it bothered Roger as well, but like her, he kept quiet. Ashley began asking Mark questions then. Although they were standing in earshot, the conversation soon faded into background noise. Like Roger, she didn't know shit about wires and cables, nor did she want to know. This was one reason she had kept Mark, after all. She could tell Snaps took active part in the conversation. She _did_ know some of that technical stuff Mark was so fond of. Just great. Apparently those two were a match made in heaven.

"So, um," Chuck was clearing his throat on her left. She almost forgot he was still standing there. "How come we moved your stuff to Collins' room and not Mark's? Aren't you guys together?"

The query caught her off-guard, although now she wondered how come no one had brought it up the day she had moved. She glanced at Mark. He was explaining something to Ashley, and from the way his eyes sort of glimmered, she assumed they somehow diverted into some film-related topic now. "Yeah, but, um… we thought it was better this way," she replied uncertainly.

"You've broken him in, right?" Chuck pressed. "It's not like it's a secret. Oh, is that it?" he added as if he had just realized something. "You didn't want to have to put up with his…" he lowered his voice, "lack of experience?"

"What's it to you?" she glowered at him.

He shrugged, unaffected. "You used to be in his films, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she replied curtly, infuriated by the way he just dismissed her question. "So what?"

"I was just wondering what kind of films they were. We never got a viewing, but if they were kinky, I'd like to see them." Then he paused, as if to reconsider. "Actually, I don't want to see Mark in that position. In _any_ position," he clarified, shuddering. Then he looked up at her again, his eyes filled with curiosity. "Why him, anyway?"

She sighed desperately. Again with this question! "Why _not_ him?"

"You're avoiding my question!" He laughed and nodded towards Mark. "I mean, come on, look at him!"

She rolled her eyes. "Your point, Chuck?"

"He's kind of a loser and you can probably do better," he said, looking as if he meant it.

"What makes you say that?" Roger interjected all of a sudden. She nearly dropped her glass. She didn't even realize he was listening. "Just because he doesn't look as cool as you do or because he's less experienced doesn't make him a bad person. He's loyal, he's there for his friends no matter what, and if you've stuck around, you would have seen how much he's changed, you wouldn't have believed it. And he loves her. Why _wouldn't_ she want him?"

Apparently Roger's hiss was quite audible, for by the time he had finished there was a tensed silence in the room. Everyone was looking at them. Roger wasn't one for long speeches, so whenever he had made one, it had always left the other people in the room dumbfounded. Mark's face was slightly red as if he realized he was the center of this speech. Snaps laid a hand on his shoulder, which infuriated Maureen again. She distracted herself by glancing at Chuck. Roger's words clearly hit home. He knew the mistake he had made. He let out a nervous laughter. "Sorry, man, I was just giving her a hard time." He said it looking at her, and there was apology in his eyes. "I forgot those two were joined in the hip. I didn't mean it."

"It's fine," she said, forcing a smile onto her lips. She glanced at Mark. He looked confused, as if he didn't realize what it was all about. Unfortunately, she was running late. She'd let Roger handle things, for once. "I'll see you guys later," she said as she grabbed her stuff and left hastily. The silence still echoed behind her.

As she dashed downstairs, her lips curled into a tiny grin. Optimism washed through her, stronger than envy or fury or heartbrokenness. She couldn't help but tell herself that Roger's slip was a good thing. Maybe by the time the day ended, he and Mark would finally work things out between them.

xoxox

The following Thursday, Maureen found herself home alone. Roger was at the club, she knew, and Mark left a note saying he was out filming, and might stop at the club to film the guys rehearse. This was how their conversations had gone these days, small post-its on the back of the door. She tried not to be so bitter about it, considering it was partly her fault. She was hardly ever home the previous week since she had her second trial at Purple Sky. When she did see Mark, there always seemed to be people around, and it was always too noisy to talk anyway. The fact that he came despite his infamous dislike of clubs was significant, she thought. He'd never sat at the front, or took an active part in the performance like Roger and Alex (who apparently was actually seeing someone for a bit over week now; she should have known he would never give up his flavor of the week), but he was always there, lurking in the shadows with his camera. At least he showed up. At least he still cared.

Her second trial was even better than her first one, or so she felt. She was more confident now. She knew the band better, and when she first showed up for rehearsals, they welcomed her as if they were old friends. They changed the setlist a little, replaced songs that didn't work well the first time around, added others. Each night brought even more people in the club. Ryan had said it was kind of unusual, to have the place so packed on a random Tuesday, and she thought it was a good sign. She only caught a glimpse of Anthony on her last night yesterday, but he vanished before she got a chance to talk to him, so she didn't hear anything straight from him. While she trusted Ryan's word, it was Anthony's reassurance, and his decision, that actually mattered.

She reveled at the silence, at the loneliness. She kind of missed it, especially now, when things between everyone were so awkward. Mark and Roger were on speaking terms at least, but as they had all been so busy, they were hardly communicating at all. She thought part of it was the fact that Mark had been hanging out with Mimi, which made Roger uncomfortable. It was as if he was afraid that if they fell into conversation, Mark would talk him into going to speak to her or whatnot, which was something Roger wasn't up to. Everything had changed so much in a span of only a few weeks. She felt so helpless against it.

She was fixing herself some dinner when the phone rang. "Hello?" she said, biting into her toast.

"Hey, what's cookin', good-lookin'!"

"_Collins_!" she shrieked, nearly spilling milk all over the counter.

"Hey, Maureen! I'm calling you back, you left me a message."

She did, a few days ago, to let him know she had moved back into the loft. "You were so busy you couldn't call back until now?"

"Well, you know me," he laughed, and she found herself smiling. She missed the sound of his laughter, the deep bass of his voice.

"Are you coming back yet?" she asked hopefully.

"No, this gig is not gonna be as short-termed as I thought, which is good because it means money. It's great to hear your voice though, Reeney, what's up? How are those performances at Purple Sky going?"

"Great! I had two trials and there's a pretty good chance I'll become a regular. _And_ I got Roger's band a gig there."

"You _what_? They're reuniting? How come?"

"Just, because," she said quickly. She didn't mean to tell him how bad things really were at home. He sounded so cheerful, so content; she didn't mean to spoil it for him. "Will you be able to come see them? It's exactly a week from today."

"I'm not sure, but probably not. Tell Mark to film it for me," he joked.

"You got it," she replied, laughing bitterly.

"Is everything okay there?" he asked, as if he knew the sound was off. "You and Mark, Roger and Mimi?"

"Everything's fine," she said. She hoped she sounded convincing, reassuring. The last thing she wanted was worry him. They owed him more than that.

"Oh, hey, do you happen to know if Mimi's home? I meant to return her call too, but she's not answering her phone."

"Nope, I dunno, Collins, I walked in a while ago and it sounded pretty quiet in there when I passed her door."

"Hmm. Maybe she's in the library."

"The library? Why would she be _there_?"

"Didn't you know?" his tone changed ever so slightly. It was almost suspicious. "Mimi's going back to school in the fall."

She didn't know, and it kind of hurt to find out that way. She felt all left out. "Oh, sure I knew, it just slipped my mind just now." The lie came out easily. "I'll let her know you've been looking for her if I see her."

"Sure, do that. Now I gotta go, I hear someone coming up the stairs. Finally, someone's coming to office hours! It was great talking to you."

"You too, Collins," she whispered, although she thought it was probably the worst conversation the two of them had ever had. She had never had to lie to him that way, and it bothered her.

She thought about Collins, in a tiny office in the college he was teaching at, so small it could hardly contain all his books and papers. She imagined them towering from the floor and covering his desk. If only he could be her professor, she knew her college experience would have been far more entertaining, and possibly longer than it had been. A sigh escaped her. College life was so simple. Well, not that she had a lot of that, since she had given up on it almost as soon as it started, but living on an allowance was much easier, much safer, than struggling to make a living. But was it wiser? It had been a while since she had pondered that what-if. If she stuck to college, she would never have gotten to New York, or given a chance to perform her music, or met Mark. But there was the potential for a more stable life, clean of death and disease and loss. She used to think her choice was the right one, but now she wondered if she had been too naïve to believe in a lie. Maybe she _was_ better off in college after all.

She hardly got a chance to place the receiver on its hook when the phone rang again. She didn't say more than hello before he spoke.

"Maureen, you _have_ to do me a favor." No introductions, no hellos. How perfectly Alex.

"Excuse me? I don't have to do anything for you."

"Please, I'm desperate, I have no one else to call."

Alex Meyers, groveling. Now, _that_ was something she had never experienced before. "Did you just say 'please', Alex? I didn't even know you were familiar with this word."

"Ha, ha, will you just listen for a second?"

She narrowed her eyes. She didn't like his tone. "What is it you need, Meyers?"

"A babysitter. We have a last minute rehearsal tonight because Chuck has to go out of town tomorrow. I need someone to watch Jacob for couple of hours until we're done. His regular babysitter is sick so I – "

"Call your new girlfriend!"

"Alicia? What – how can you – do you _really_ think I'd let a stripper watch over my son?"

"Would you have let Mimi watch over him?" she challenged.

"That's different," he replied, unfaltering.

Her eyes narrowed. Of course he'd have an answer for everything. "Why me?"

"Three reasons," he said. "First, as much as I hate to admit it, my son is crazy about you. Second, it's sort of your fault we have this rehearsal – "

"What do you mean it's my fault?" she asked tersely, cutting him off. He sounded so smug; she felt like slapping the bastard.

"Well, you got us this gig, didn't you? It's our comeback performance, and Roger doesn't want to mess it up, so he set us a few extra rehearsals. So you owe me."

"I believe you just said _I_ got _you_ the gig. Doesn't that mean _you_ owe _me_?"

"Semantics, semantics…"

"What's the third reason?"

"Huh?"

She sighed. "You just said there were three reasons for you to call me. What's the third?"

"Oh, the third," he said slowly. If she didn't know him well, she would have thought he sounded sheepish. "I kinda told Jacob you were coming."

That son of a bitch!

xoxox

She thought she wouldn't have to do much, that she'd read Jacob a story and tuck him in. Unfortunately, the kid had other plans. He was like a little rocket, energetic as hell, and impossible to restrain. She was surprised the apartment was still in one piece. It took ages to even get him near his bed. She smiled to herself as she tiptoes back to the living room when he had finally fallen asleep. The more time she had spent with Jacob, the more attached she had grown. Funny. She didn't even like kids. Jacob had nothing of his dad's arrogance. He was still filled with childish innocence, this endless curiosity, and whenever he called her 'Reen she thought her heart would melt.

She turned the TV on and curled on the sofa. She couldn't believe how tired she was. First there was the move in the previous weekend, and then the second set of gigs at Purple Sky had completely worn her out. Between rehearsals and the actual performances, she didn't have much time for herself. Well, at least she did well at the club. The place was packed nightly, and she thought she even recognized some of the faces in the audience. But now, when the week was finally fading into a blessed close, exhaustion was beginning to overtake her. The pictures from the screen moved too fast, the light hurting her eyes. She felt her eyelids flutter closed. Just for five minutes, she told herself, her thoughts already a jumble.

The next thing she knew, there was a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake. She opened her eyes with difficulty. For a second, she couldn't remember where she was. But then her eyes met Alex's haughty smile, and she groaned. He was kneeling next to the sofa, a tiny smirk hanging on the corner of his lips.

"You could have used my bedroom if you were tired. I promise I wouldn't have minded," he said, smiling irresistibly.

"Asshole," she muttered as she sat up, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. Roger sort of forgets he's not dealing with a bunch of exuberant teenagers anymore." She cocked an eyebrow. From the little she knew, Alex hadn't lasted after 10th grade in high school. She wondered where he'd picked up a word like 'exuberant'. She wanted to tell him how mentally, he was still a teenager and always would be, but she was too tired to start fighting with him, so she held her tongue.

He watched her as she picked up her stuff, and silently walked her to the door. "I'd take you home, but…" he nodded towards the hall, where Jacob was sound asleep.

"It's okay. I'll walk. It's not far."

"You can always crash here for the night." She didn't even have a chance to roll her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. It's late and your building is creepy enough in daylight."

"Don't worry, I'm a big girl," she smiled, reaching for the doorknob.

He put his hand on hers to stop her. "Thanks for coming."

She cocked an eyebrow. She wasn't used to hear Alex Meyers use words like 'please' and 'thank you'. "Ah, but I thought I owed you," she said playfully, echoing his words from hours earlier. "It's my fault you had rehearsals, isn't it?"

"Still, you could have said no."

She shook her head. She wasn't that cruel. "I wouldn't do this to you."

"I know." His eyes were serious now, boring into her. She felt uncomfortable beneath his gaze, but at the same time she was transfixed by it, and unable to look away. "What if you did spend the night?" he murmured, his lips grazing her ear. The whisper gave her goosebumps.

"Good night, Alex," she laughed softly. She laid her free hand against his chest to push him back, but he wouldn't budge. His eyes still hadn't left hers. She was trapped between his chest and the door. She smiled carefully, uncertainly. His smile was confident as if he knew he was going to win.

Not taking his eyes off her, he laced his fingers with hers as he slowly removed their joined hands from the doorknob, and led her back into the apartment with no further words.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

She didn't come home. After four teabags, a wastebasket full of crumpled drafts, two film reels, hours spent fixing Snaps' camera and watching the orange horizon lift, he finally decided that she was never going to walk through that door, and went to bed. He hadn't seen her all day and he couldn't believe she didn't bother to pick up a phone. He pulled the covers over his head and shut his eyes. There were only a few hours left before he had to wake up again, but some sleep was better than none.

It occurred to him that something might have happened to her. Maybe she was walking home and was held up, mugged. Maybe her body was mangled in an alleyway where even the streetlamps were too afraid to take a little peek. He convinced himself he was letting his filmmaker imagination run wild again and that she was probably somewhere safe. Safe and warm… in someone else's arms.

"I can't sleep," he said to an empty room. Worry kept him up and frustration got him out of bed. The sun was all ready for the day; it burned through his walls and made his room feel like the inside of an oven. He took a long shower and scrubbed the anxiety away. It was interesting, the way the water left his body and hurried down the drain. If only it were that easy.

The Well Hungarians were meeting at Purple Sky for rehearsal. He was supposed to be at Snaps' place before then so he could film her in her natural habitat for his documentary. He thought it would be nice to catch her just as she was waking up and started brushing the body paint on her skin. And even though it was 80 degrees out, he grabbed his scarf and wrapped it around his neck. One of the film reels he watched last night was the one behind the anthology, Roman numeral III, one of the first Well-Hungarians' rehearsals.

He wasn't planning on watching it by himself. He had thought Roger would have come out to join him once he heard their early renditions of Def Leppard and Pink Floyd. But, Mark got through it alone and it wasn't that bad. Ashley hadn't joined the band yet for Snaps to cling on to so she teased the dorky, four-eyed cameraman a lot. He smiled. At one point, she unraveled his scarf and twisted it around her own neck, slipped on his glasses and stole the camera away. For two and a half minutes, she filmed the band from different angles, saying things like, "I'm Mark and I'm your adorable host for today as we take a look at the adventures of Roger, Alex, Chuck and Snaps in Alphabet City's hardest rocking band, the Well-Hungarians!" Air guitar.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking about her. But, he found it an easy escape, one that actually made him smile. For a split moment, he thought he didn't need to revert back to escapism. In that moment, it was so good to have Maureen back. Skin burned like fire when they touched the other night, but left scars the next morning. Normally, he would have stayed, caressed her skin and watched her sleep. It was just no use. He couldn't get the image of her and Alex in the same position as they were. So he left. But, he swore on everything he loved he didn't mean to hurt her feelings.

Roger was aimlessly walking around the kitchen when Mark came out of his bedroom.

"I'll meet you at the club in a bit," called Mark as he headed to the front door.

"Yehmsh," he mumbled half-dead. There was an answer in there somewhere. Mark waved goodbye, wondering if his roommate even saw him, and closed the door.

He walked down the stairs and figured he should check up on Mimi before he went to Snaps'. He had been meaning to talk to her about Maureen and how she felt about her moving back in. He was about to knock on the door when he heard familiar voices on the other side. She wasn't alone. He leaned over, barely pressing his ear to the wood, and listened.

"I don't know, Mimi…" A male voice.

"What's wrong?" That was Mimi, distinctly.

"I think she's really fallin' for me…" said the man.

"Frida, Kahlo, you are not wussin' out, are you?" And that was definitely Snaps. What was she doing here? He was supposed to pick her up.

"Hey, I'm thinking about her feelings, okay?" It was clear now. That was Alex. Mark pressed his lips together, fearing that they could hear him breathe through the door.

"_Now_ you're Mr. Sensitive!" said Snaps.

"Alright, geez," said Alex. "Let's just go, now, please?" The door peeled open and Mark stepped back. Snaps appeared on the other side, equally startled. She was wearing aqua suspender shorts and a salmon-colored t-shirt, her legs painted with different fish and sea animals. She was the only person who could pull off these looks.

"Mark, hey," she said, catching her breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I live in this building," he said trying to crack a smile, but suspicious ruled him. "I thought I was supposed to be meeting you?"

"I thought it was easier if I just came and got you and Roger. No use taking the bus to and back," she said shrugging. "And I wanted to see how Mimi was doing." They had become fast friends since their first meeting. Snaps often encouraged her with her school work and learned with her while Mark tutored once or twice a week. Her knowledge was full of sculptors and visual arts terminology, so she loved reacquainting herself with basic math and writing.

Alex appeared from behind her, his eyes carefully avoiding Mark's gaze. "What are you doing here?" asked Mark.

"I came to see Mimi," he answered plainly. She squeezed between the other two and approached Mark. She had her backpack on and a water bottle in her grasp.

"I didn't know you were so popular," said Mark to her.

"He's dating one of my dancer friends at Cat Scratch," she replied. "It hasn't even been ten days and already he wants to dump her." Alex threw her a look, but she ignored it and excused herself for class. Mark tried not to meet his gaze. If he was here, where could Maureen possibly be? Still at his place? Taking care of his kid? He felt his heartbeat pounding inside him and he wondered when it was all going to end, if it was ever going to end. Why were they playing him like that?

"Well, since half of the Well Hungarians are in this building, we might as well walk to Purple Sky together," said Snaps. She turned to Alex. "Be useful and get Roger out of bed."

"Why can't I be useful every morning and get _you_ out of bed?" he asked. It was almost innate, these remarks of inappropriateness. Before she could raise her knee to kick him, he reacted and ran up the flight of stairs.

She shook her head and crossed her arms. "You know, it would be so much easier if he wasn't a jerk. Did you know that he actually took Alicia on a carriage ride the other day? If he wanted in so badly he would have taken _me_ on a carriage ride."

"Are you jealous?" asked Mark grinning.

"This isn't jealousy. It's objective reasoning."

"By the way, your camera is all fixed," he said holding his own camera up and turning it on. He fixed the lens toward Snaps.

"Is it really? Where is it?"

"Uh, well I wanted to give it a last checkup before I send it back," he said pointing the camera at her ankles where her art began. He traced it up her legs, seeing seahorses and blowfishes. When he reached her face, her lips were pursed.

"It is the middle of summer. Why are you wearing a scarf?" she asked. Ah shoot. He was hoping she'd at least remember. He just shrugged at her question and the footsteps were heard behind him. Roger kept missing a step and Alex had to walk in front of him to catch him from falling. The guy was still half-asleep.

"Don't you need your instruments?" asked Mark.

"We left them at the club," answered Snaps. "We were there until late and figured we should just leave them there since we were going back in the morning."

The walk to Purple Sky consisted of filming two hyperactive rock stars trying to wake their fellow band mate up. It took all their energy to keep Roger from yawning for the hundredth time. They shouted, cheered and sang their songs, drawing a lot of attention from people who would stop and stare and drivers who would honk in response. Snaps would show off her cartwheel skills while Alex impressed them with his back flip. They even had a short footrace to which they dragged Mark in as well.

"Great, you made me film the pavement," he complained turning his camera off.

"Hey, you may not have groundbreaking footage, but you certainly have ground-_shaking_ footage," said Alex with a caricature smile on. They all rolled their eyes at him, teasing him about his one-liners. Even Roger was getting into it. At least now they killed their energy and warmed up their voices. Ashley was standing in front of the club, his foot picked up behind him, leaning on the door. He brought a small purple cylinder-shaped object to his lips, its round base enwrapped in his palm. He was smoking his bong.

"You gonna do that where everyone can see you, you idiot?" asked Alex. Ashley exhaled and smiled crookedly. Alex shook his head and entered the club.

"You're not smoking on my time, Ash," said Roger sternly. It wasn't a question and not quite a statement. It was almost as if it was fact. He grabbed the bong away from him and followed Alex inside. Snaps stood in front of their keyboardist and looked at him expectantly.

"No more bong?" he asked innocently, his eyes like a puppy's.

"You're so stoned, Ash," she answered, her tone lighter than the others. She escorted him into the club and Mark followed behind. The air was much cooler inside. The chairs were topped upside down on the tables, the lights were dim and there was vacuuming of some sort heard going on in the back rooms. Roger called out and the club's manager, Anthony came out.

"I told him he better not be smoking in here," he said his eyes darting to Ashley's.

"He's not," said Roger holding up the bong and setting it behind the bar counter. While the two of them talked, the rest of the band began setting up speakers and microphones, tuning their instruments. Mark filmed. It was great singing that the old rituals and traditions they held when they were first starting out continued to hold its place in the group. They tested the mics the same way: Ashley beat-boxed into the microphone while Alex attempted to rap. Then they tested the speakers with Snaps kicking off a beat with her bass, then having Ashley join in and familiarize the tune of Sugar Hill Gang's "Apache." Usually, Alex and Chuck would do the infamous Apache dance, but one of two was out of town today.

"Come on, Rog, I need a dance partner!" called Alex. He was in a crouching position, knees bent, butt sticking out, chin up and hands on his hips as if he was doing the chicken dance. "Rog!"

"I'm coming!" he said jogging to the stage. He looked at Alex and asked, "Why do you look like you're taking a shit?"

Snaps' laughter was heard echoing throughout the club and Ashley nearly fell out of his chair, clutching his stomach. Mark tried to suppress his own laughter, tried to keep the camera steady. Alex pouted and crossed his arms like his son would and Roger apologized by patting him on the shoulder. He picked up his fender and Mark took a seat closer to the mosh pit area.

"Chuck isn't here for the news, but I can't wait for him," said Roger turning around to face his band mates. "Anthony just told me that the Village Voice may be dropping in to see our comeback show next week so when I say we better kick ass I mean—"

They didn't let him finish. They cheered and replied each with their own instrument. None of them knew how on earth they were going to get back that small-town fame they once had, but the Voice would give them pretty good publicity if they rocked it. As rehearsals began, memories of their old shows dallied in Mark's head. Even though he kept shooting, he couldn't help but think of how much fun going to a Well-Hungarians show used to be. At the peak of their recognition, local fans would go crazy when Roger threw his guitar picks to the crowd, when Chuck spat out water to the people sweating in the front row. They joined in when Ashley started beat-boxing, stomped their feet when they brought trashcans in for Alex to bang on. Occasionally, fans would even show up in body art, homage to Snaps.

As Mark filmed, he couldn't help but notice the difference in Roger's carriage. This was something he loved to do, the best way he knew how to deal, all emotions left on stage as soon as the final notes were hit. When April had gone, his fender was practically attached to his torso, but he vowed never step foot in front of an audience until one of his songs meant something. Until his life meant something.

Roger called for a short break. He hopped offstage, leaving Snaps and Alex dueling with their guitars, and leaned his fender on a speaker. Mark watched as his roommate walked across the club and knocked on the backdoor. It opened and there were a few words exchanged until a cigarette box was tossed in the air. Roger caught it and headed out the door without bothering to ask the others to join him.

"Mother fucker, Snaps!" Alex yelled. His palm was pressed against his head, his face cringing with pain. Before she could claim it was an accident, he climbed offstage, mumbled, "I need some liquor" and went to find Anthony.

"Oops," said Snaps sitting next to Mark. "I thought he was going to duck."

"Having fun?" asked Ashley taking a seat across from her. He was gesturing at his camera. He wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were still fixed on the door where his roommate had exited. Grabbing a fresh water bottle and ordering Snaps to guard his camera, he followed Roger out. He found him standing under the eave of the rooftop with a cigarette between his fingers and smooth smoke drifting from his mouth upward.

"I can never get the French inhale right," said Mark.

Roger broke the smoke and exhaled. He flicked the butt off and took one more drag before answering him. "You don't smoke," he said, turning his head to him.

Mark smirked and nodded to the cigarettes sticking out of his pocket. His roommate looked at him strangely, took out the pack and reached one out to him. Hesitantly, Mark picked one out and looked at it carefully.

"That was my last match," said Roger his eyes averting to the pavement where he had flung it. He lent him his cigarette to light his own and Mark handed him the water bottle. Very few words were traded, but men were used to body language and silence while women cried and whined over the phone to their girlfriends.

"It's like the band never broke up," said Mark giving him back the cigarette. He didn't really like to smoke. He just kept it between his fingers.

"We're even better," admitted Roger, laughing a bit.

"Why are you alone?"

He shrugged. He was looking down at his shoes. "Back then, it would be April standing here next to me. Only we wouldn't be standing here, we would be slumped near the dumpster in the alleyway. And we wouldn't be smoking, we'd be shooting up."

"It must be hard."

"Well… I don't miss it."

Mark inhaled into his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He almost choked, but he managed to exhale without coughing. He looked up at him. "Do you miss her?"

There was a long pause. A stray dog dawdled across the street and decided to jaywalk. A few cars had to steer around it. Its tongue was hanging out, eyes flashing, as it trotted near their end and turned the corner. It didn't even grant them a passing glance. Roger tossed his cigarette and walked around his roommate.

He opened the door. "I don't know who you mean." And he stepped inside.

xoxoxo

Mark left early. Rehearsal was becoming monotonous and he only had so much film. Besides, he wanted to get home and see if Maureen had gotten there safely. Maybe he had been wrong about it all and she really was hurt. He didn't know for sure. She could be lying on a hospital bed and the nurses could be calling right now.

He pushed the door open in a hurry. The panic wore off, the heartbeat slowed and the breathing steadied when he found the loft completely void of sound. He took a few steps and scanned the room, listening, waiting for footsteps, someone to walk out of the hallway, any piece of evidence that could reassure him.

"Maureen?" His voice quaked. He walked toward her bedroom and knocked, called her name again. Nothing. He slowly turned the knob and peeked in. There wasn't anybody there. She still wasn't home.

"Hmm." He suddenly remembered the answering machine. Darting back into the living room, he hit the play button and listened. It answered with a beep and a robotic "There are no messages." Sighing, he took his camera into his bedroom. She's probably fine, he thought miserably, and you're acting like some sort of fanatic. You need to take your mind off it, he decided, and began working on the cut he shot today.

He spent the whole day immersing himself in work. Albeit most of the time he was thinking about Maureen (or at least trying to suppress the thought of her), he did manage to get the scenes he had intended in his storyboard. As a blanket of violet coated the sky, he couldn't help but think about two nights ago when their bodies were wrapped around each other, her skin burned with tenderness, his desire almost insatiable. Did he miss her or just those nights when they laid beside each other? Avoiding the effort of figuring out what he actually wanted, he killed the lights, sat on his bed and watched the rest of his cut on the screen from today's rehearsal.

I hate my camera work, he thought aloud. The frame shook a little and he told himself that his hands should be stable when holding the camera. You're not filming an earthquake scene, he scolded himself. They were inside Purple Sky and Roger had just called for a short break. He then noticed that off-screen Mark had set the camera on the table and ran after Roger. You didn't turn your camera off?! He shook his head and buried his head in his hands. No wonder you were running out of film.

The scene was silent for a moment. He could hear the rest of the band at the bar talking to Anthony. It was a shame he couldn't fast forward through this crap. He leaned his head back and yawned. It was almost midnight. Temptation called him to check if Maureen had come back, but he forced himself to stay put and concentrate on his work.

Snaps and Ashley reentered the scene and sat at the able. Their faces weren't shown on camera. They set their drinks right in front of the lens and all Mark saw was a Long Island Iced Tea, a mug of beer and two pairs of arms.

"You think she's been with a lot of people?" Ashley's voice was heard.

"Well, yeah, she must have, I guess," said Snaps. "But, I'm telling you, this isn't right. You don't just date your friend's girlfriend."

"They're on the rocks." There was uncertainty in his voice, a bit of shame. His fingers caressed the handle of his glass.

"Come on, Ashley. We'll find you another chick," said Snaps.

"God, she's so incredibly sexy, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, a hundred percent, but—"

"Every time she's hit that stage, the fire, the energy. And her body is perfect, curvy all over."

"Ash, she's taken, okay? Just because they're going through some rough patches, doesn't give you permission to make a pass at her."

"Rough patches? Snaps, you saw them the day we moved everything, at the apartment. They hardly spoke two words to each other."

Mark had grabbed a fistful of his blanket and dug his fingernails into the fabric. His hands turned white, the blood rushing to his head. He couldn't possibly mean…

"Leave the poor guy alone, huh?" said Snaps on camera. "He's already lost love once. Don't let him go through that again."

Ashley didn't respond for a moment and Mark thought that was the end of it. But, then his voice reemerged, mumbled and low. "Other guys have flirted with her."

"Picasso, you are so immature," said Snaps.

He couldn't watch anymore. He knocked the reel out of its place and did all he could to keep from ripping his hair out. Pacing around his room, different thoughts collided with one another in his brain. Who had hit on her? Why was he still with her? She was with another man or woman right now, he could feel it. If she never came home, that was fine. Alex's apology was bull and she was playing him like a fiddle. So was that one night just to lure him in; was it all a game? God, he wished he knew where she was. She wasn't trying at all. He wondered if there was any liquor in the house. He sorely needed a drink.

There wasn't a drop of alcohol in the kitchen. He searched every nook and cranny for something that someone might have stashed long ago, but all he found was an apple's core and dead cockroaches. He just wanted to numb the pain and erase the thoughts. Why did I ever think I could handle this sober? he asked himself.

The front door slowly creaked open and he saw a shadow of a woman creeping in. She was on her tiptoes, trying not to be as quiet as possible.

His footsteps were light as he snuck to the counter and leaned over it. "So you do live here? I figured you had moved out again."

She jolted back a bit and dropped her shoes to the ground. She turned her head to him, catching her breath. "Shit, Mark, you scared the crap out of me!"

"Well, now you know how I feel. Where were you?"

She shrugged indifferently. "I was out." Her tone was dull.

"That's all I get?" he asked incredulously. "I thought we were supposed to be communicating in this relationship."

"Mark, it's Friday night," she said. "I was at Purple Sky because I promised Ryan and everyone I'd come and see them perform." Ryan was part of the club's band. Was something going on between them too? What was it with her and musicians? She was taking them down, one by one, like a tyrant. "You don't see _me_ throwing a fit whenever you're out filming for hours, do you?"

He almost didn't hear the last bit. All he could think about was her and every musician residing in Alphabet City. Her and Ryan, her and Alex. Hell, it could also very well be her and Roger. He inhaled. "Where were you last night?"

She looked at him for a moment and crossed her arms. "Alex asked me to babysit Jacob while the guys were rehearsing."

That was a good excuse to be at his house. "Is that it?"

She sighed. "He came back late and didn't want me to go home alone, so he offered I stay the night. Do you want to give him a call to confirm all that? Because I don't think he'd appreciate your paranoia if you wake him at 2am."

"You stayed? Knowing how I would feel about that?" It was incredible to him how everyone could move on as if nothing had happened. Everyone acted as if the affair didn't exist so it was okay if Maureen spent the night at Alex's. They called that night insignificant, but it hurt him so much. Even Snaps shrugged it off as nothing. That hurt even more. "You know, if you had called I would have come and get you, but I guess you wanted to…" He stopped, realizing what he was saying.

"Wanted to what, Mark? Why don't you just say it and get it out of your system?"

"You're forgetting the whole point, Maureen. You didn't call once and you slept at Alex's. Or slept on him, I guess," he mumbled.

"Well, I _should_ be getting my fix somewhere seeing as I'm not allowed in your bedroom." Her eyes narrowed. She moved closer, her glare dark and angry.

Did she just admit it? He was looking for a backfire, but his mouth went dry. Did she just say she slept with him? "I hope you're joking," he said, faltering a bit. He straightened up and felt his knees weaken. "Because if that's the case I don't even know why we're trying."

"Oh, _are_ we trying? I haven't realized!"

"Clearly or I wouldn't have been tossing and turning, wondering when you were coming home!"

"Well, at least now you know how it feels, tossing and turning and wondering," she said coldly. Her expression was sealed, but he detected that hint of winter hatred in her eyes.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly.

"I'm saying that the next time you disappear from my bedroom and laugh at me when I come looking for you the next morning, you'll remember how panicked you were when you found me missing."

"That's different," he said plainly. "I didn't leave the building. I'm not having the affair." It was sudden and blunt. He didn't plan on saying it, but he felt good after he did.

She gaped at him. "Excuse me?!"

"You said you needed someone on the side if you weren't getting it from me," he said. He was merely reiterating what she had told him.

She rolled her eyes. "Hypothetically, Mark, you don't have to take everything so literally."

What was this, her pathetic attempt to cover her ass? He couldn't discern her truth from her lies, she was so good at acting. "Well, what was I supposed to think with your track record?"

"Will you _stop_ bringing that up whenever we have this argument, Mark? It's getting really old, come up with some new stuff!" Her voice was rising, her eyes a little desperate. He wondered if Roger was awake in the other room, listening. "Besides, why are we talking about my affair? Why not talk about yours? I'm sure it will be much more… colorful."

He couldn't believe her accusation. "You think _I'm_ having an affair? You must be crazy!"

She laughed a bit. "Right. Crazy. Crazy to think this could ever work out again."

"This isn't my fault, Maureen. You're the one sleeping over at his place. I don't hear from you for almost two days." His nerves had chilled and now he felt exhaustion again, fatigue. Why couldn't they work this out? "You told me nothing was going on."

"Right, and I'm telling you again, nothing is going on!" She gestured with her hands as if she was writing it in air for him. "He needed a babysitter, he didn't know who else to call, he called here. I didn't leave you a note because I assumed I'd be home soon. You know I wasn't with him, Mark, you saw him at rehearsals! Come _on_!"

In all honesty, he wasn't completely convinced. He surrendered defeat though because he just wanted to end it. They were arguing in circles. It wasn't working out and it was always for the same reason. Perhaps, he could pick it up again tomorrow. Or maybe a bottle of Jack Daniels would do.

"Fine. I'm going to bed." He walked to his bedroom without looking back. As soon as he opened the door, he felt her hand around his wrist, pulling him a bit. He turned around and saw her pleading look, sad and sorry.

"Can I get a goodnight kiss?" she asked. He remembered the very same words he had said to her a couple nights ago, in front of her bedroom door. He looked at her carefully, his eyes searching for something in hers. The truth would be nice. He pulled away and pried his gaze away. He disappeared into his room and shut the door behind him.


End file.
